


Thick As Blood

by ur_the_puppy



Series: the art of stealing hearts [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Sequel, also aden is clexa's accidental adopted son at this point, because I can't resist angst apparently, heda!lexa, lil bit of magic, thief!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 05:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ur_the_puppy/pseuds/ur_the_puppy
Summary: It doesn't take long for trouble to find Clarke once more, and when her people start to get picked off one by one, it's only so long until she's next.orfantasy au. sequel to Thick As Thieves.





	Thick As Blood

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i wasn't originally planning a sequel but i enjoyed writing the last one so much so here we are. this ones a little more murderous than the previous, a little darker, and knowing me ill probably way overwrite. fair warning that i mostly write this for myself, as i'm a sucker for badass clarke and well... dragons and magic and murder mysteries? how could i resist?  
> (for that Full Immersion listen to: Dissolve by Wennink) (also it's only me that goes over this, so if typos are something that drive you mad, kindly point them out and ill fix them for you)

“Get away from me! Stay away!” Atom shouts hysterically. His thighs burn from the constant running but he doesn’t care, sprinting through the darkened alleys and shoving away anyone and thing that gets in his path. He hears a roar from behind him, the same one that’s been following him for days, and Atom feels his blood run cold at how close the sound of thundering feet are getting.

He’s running down one of the many hidden alleys within Polis, slipping through the maze of secret passages in hopes that he can escape the _thing_ that chases after him. It’s dark out but he doesn’t care. He just needs to run, to get away, to _survive_. He suddenly trips and smashes into an empty stall, too caught up in his own terror and horror to take proper note of his surroundings. He shouts in surprised pain and screws his eyes shut at the abrupt burst of agony in his hand.

The stall was left there for a reason it seems, as there is a broken shaft of wood sticking out at the side, the surface table caved in at the edges.

Now the shaft is pierced through his palm.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck oh—“

A blood curdling snarl makes his head snap up. Atom curses again, and with tears trailing down his cheeks he forces a deep breath. He counts to three, prays that the Gods are on his side, before he grips his wrist and jerks his hand backwards. He screams at the explosion of pain, but he’s free from the wooden stake now—the oak drips in red—and he scrambles to his feet. He bolts the second he’s up.

He staggers out into the main street, cradling his injured hand and panting so hard it hurts to breathe. There’s sweat that drenches his skin, his hair and his chest and his back. The black tunic he wears is soaked and he’s sure the thing can smell it. He takes off running again and shoves his way through the few people that are out at this time of night, late workers and weary-eyed peasants who snarl at him for his lack of manners.

He doesn’t care. He keeps running, keeps pushing and shoving and pretends he can’t hear the heavy thud of feet and roars from the monster after him. Atom tries to shove away a man that steps into his path, but the man’s arms suddenly shoot out and grab his shoulders, holding him down.

“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?” the man snaps, a city guard Atom now realises. But he doesn’t care; the _thing_ is getting closer with every second that he stays still. He struggles in the guard’s grip frantically, but he’s too strong and won’t let him free.

“Help me!” Atom pleads, more tears streaming down when he hears the delighted roar of the monster. He knows it’s close now, he can feel it. Oh gods it’s so close now. “Please, you have to help me, it will kill me it will—“

“Who’s going to kill you?” The guard cuts off, suddenly looking far more serious. “What are you talking about?”

“The _thing_!” Atom screams and his head snaps to behind him when he hears a crash. His blood freezes when he sees the monster stagger, its body wrapped in a black mist and hiding it within the darkness of the night. It doesn’t matter though. Atom can still see as it casually walks through the people in front of it, red soulless eyes making him scream again and try to escape the guard’s grip “There!” Atom points to the advancing monster. Cries break out of him and he shakes his head. “It’s right there, it’s right there,” he sobs.

“What’s there?” the guard demands, and Atom sees him glance wildly around him, where Atom points, trying to see what he sees. “There’s nothing there what are you—“

“Please, please just leave, just leave me _alone_ ,” Atom begs. The thing is only a few paces away now. It’s closer than it’s ever been before. He can feel how _wrong_ it is from so close, how it makes his hairs stand on end, the canine-like shape and the jaws with glistening teeth that are _so fucking close_. “I’m sorry!” Atom yells, as it nears him. “Please, just get away from me! Get away from…“

His words trail off when the thing suddenly rises up to two legs, the smoke seeming to wrap around its body. Atom begins muttering incoherently with his fear, sliding down to his knees and shaking in both terror and sobs. His hand still pulses with pain from where it’d been ripped from before.

“Please,” Atom whispers for the last time.

He swears that the mass of shadows smile, before suddenly the black mist disappears and it reveals the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. Atom screams so loud that he can’t hear anything else but his wail. The last thing he knows is a flash of teeth and a burst pain.

Atom’s body drops like a ragdoll to the cobblestone below.

-

Clarke hums as she slides herself into the familiar secret passageways of Polis Tower.

Ever since she found herself spending more and more time within the sacred space, she’s taken it upon her to discover every nook and cranny. As a result she’s become quite adept at slipping from once place to another without being seen. Sure, while it’s _mostly_ because of her curiosity, it’s also perhaps a little because old habits die hard. Her entire life she’s been brought up in the shadows. It’s not really her fault that in turn she will always seek them out.

She presses herself against the walls during a particularly narrow section. She has to lay her back flat against the cold stone to fit, the metal grate in front of her so close it nearly grazes her nose. Near the top of the metal is a thin slit. It’s perfectly eye-level, and for once Clarke finds herself _not_ cursing her short stature. She pauses, leaning forward in what little space she can, eyes squinting as she searches the room in front of her.

It’s the map room. For now it’s empty, spare for the two guards she can see standing sentry near the archway into the room just outside. With careful fingers she runs her hand over the grate in front of her, finding the two grooves where she can hook them in. She sucks in a sharp breath before she grips it tightly and lifts, taking effort to be as soundless as possible, her arms shaking slightly with the weight as she slowly steps herself forward. With great care she lowers the grate towards the floor. The secret entrance is positioned a little ways up, meaning she has to crouch to bring herself low enough to ease it soundlessly to the wooden boards below.

Once it’s set she makes her way down. She’s done this before, more than once, so with practiced care she lands on the floor with bent knees and feather-light steps. She raises her spine once she’s in and turns around so she can replace the grate back into its place. When she’s done she sighs happily and strides her way through—though she pauses just as she approaches the door. She smiles though as she takes in the newly splayed map one of the tables.

The room is mostly shelves upon shelves of hand-drawn maps. There’s a few tables laid out, but the biggest is the middle one. Yet the one in the corner takes her attention, and as she drifts over she runs her fingertips over the map, feeling the rough texture of the parchment.

It’s a map of Trikru lands. But it’s different, this one covered in circle outlines in various colours, with small notes scribbled next to each one. She recognises the handwriting, as she would considering it’s her own. She can still remember the day when Lexa had brought the map out. It was blank then.

“I understand that you will not be giving up your thieving tendencies any time soon,” she had started with, and Clarke followed Lexa into the room with a smirk.

“Of course.”

Lexa had thrown her a reprimanding glare for the cockiness in her tone. “You do understand that if you get caught, I will not be able to protect you.” She stopped by one of the tables in the room and began rolling out a blank parchment over it.

“You worry needlessly Lexa,” Clarke waved off. She enjoyed it when Lexa stiffened as Clarke came up from behind, pressing her front in Lexa’s back and resting her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. She grinned and tilted her lips towards Lexa’s ear. “I will never be caught.”

She had felt the shiver that ran through her. “You will not be forever lucky.” She retorted, but her words were slightly breathless.

Clarke had merely hummed. She nibbled on Lexa’s ear, her smile widening when Lexa tilted her head for her, pressing a brief kiss to her neck before pulling back. “I’m more skilled than you believe.” She’d purred, and maybe it was a little evil at the happiness she grew at Lexa’s suddenly flushed cheeks. Lexa glared at her but Clarke played it off with innocence and instead focused on the map below her. “So, what’s this?”

Lexa took in a steadying breath before continuing. Clarke enjoyed it far too much. “As I said, you will not stop stealing. However, I believe it’d best for the both of us if we developed a… system, of sorts.”

Clarke had raised a brow. “Oh? And what do you have in mind?”

“We limit the jobs to a certain amount each week. I will lay out areas that you will not steal from, such as the poor who cannot take such losses. I give you more… ‘suitable’ sections.”

“Lexa,” Clarke started, grinning wide at what she was hearing. “Are you _asking_ me to steal from the people you do not like?”

“No, of course not,” Lexa had instantly denied. She sighed again, gesturing to the map in front of her. Clarke followed the movement and realised the map wasn’t actually completely blank. It had just appeared to be as it was only the barest of outlines for Trikru territory. “I merely care for my people. Since I clearly cannot stop the problem, I can at least manage it.”

“I’m a problem?” Clarke teased. She gripped the table and leaned forward towards Lexa. It amused her how almost instantly Lexa’s eyes flicked to her lips.

“You know I did not mean it that way.” She muttered.

Clarke sighed when Lexa didn’t rise to the bait. Still, she was smiling as she leaned back out. “I’ll admit that you’ve caught my intrigue. In all seriousness, I will need to think over this carefully. Do you have more specific details ironed out?”

Lexa looked relieved at Clarke’s actually competent response. “Not entirely, I wanted it to be done with you.” She threw in a shrug then. “As I am assuming that you will have your own ideas and will most likely scrap some and modify others.”

“You assumed correctly.” They shared a grin before Clarke lost her smile and stared down at the map. “Okay, so show me what you are designating as the areas to steer from.”

Clarke smiles as the memory comes to an end. Her and Lexa had spent hours in this room after that. Lexa had been correct in her assumption too, Clarke had torn apart some aspects and deeply modified others. It had taken a good week of negotiating on both sides till either of them was content with the agreements. Clarke doesn’t regret it as well. Ever since, she can admit that there have been less of her people getting caught and a higher success rate on her end.

Knowing that she’s wasted enough time she casually strolls out of the room, smirking when the two guards both jump at her unexpected appearance. She will truly never tire of that. Throwing them a wink over her shoulder and biting her laugh at the look they share—she can hear it as one of them yells in a whisper ‘how in the hell did she get in?’—Clarke continues on with her walk.

She heads for the throne room where Lexa had her summoned a half hour ago. It isn’t meant to be a formal one Clarke’s pretty sure, but there was something mildly reprimanding in her tone when she’d asked her this morning, so Clarke reckons she’s probably done something wrong. Unfortunately, it would not be the first time that she’d been brought in to be scolded for something she’s done without really considering the consequences. That moron of an advisor, Titus as he calls himself, still sends vicious glares at her whenever they see each other in passing. Clarke thinks he’ll never forget nor forgive of how she’d _casually_ threatened his life and all of his possessions if he dared to doubt Lexa again. Clarke thinks the only reason that she merely got a sigh from her and a look was because Lexa secretly agreed with her.

Clarke turns a corner and grins as she sees Anya on the other side, striding with purpose. When she sees her Anya grinds her teeth and Clarke pointedly keeps her eyes off her.

“There was a robbery last night at the jewelers. Was that you?” she questions as she walks by, clearly trying to get her eye. Clarke keeps staring straight ahead.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about Anya.”

She passes her and now that she’s out of her line of her sight Clarke lets through her grin at Anya’s curse. “You can’t escape forever, Clarke. One day you’ll slip up and I’ll be there to catch you!” She yells after her.

“And I wish you the best of luck!” Clarke calls back. Her smile widens when she hears her swear again before she’s out of earshot. Clarke chuckles and shakes her head. Ever since she’d come back proclaimed as Lexa’s lover two months ago Anya has been desperately trying to expose her as Wanheda. It’s an amusing game to Clarke. Sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly mischievous or petty, she’ll leave little messages during her heists. Once she graffitied a symbol of a burning fire into the outside wall of a house she’d robbed. Anya’s near frantic insistence that it was Clarke’s doing had had her doubling over with laughter the second Anya had left the room.

Lexa wasn’t as entertained as she was, but when she got no reprimanding for the action whatsoever, she knew that it had amused her greatly too.

Clarke catches the eyes of the guards standing next to the entrance of the doors to Heda’s throne room. At seeing her she gives them a nod and they return the gesture before instantly pushing open the doors. They had gotten used to her presence over these months, though Clarke thinks that their wordless compliance also comes that they both know they’d probably get eaten alive if they dared to insult Heda’s lover.

She strides into the room, feeling the familiar warmth in her chest when she sees Lexa standing in the balcony near her throne. She turns around the moment Clarke’s in the room and descends her way down. Clarke notices that Lexa’s face is more serious than normal, so her assumption that she’s probably pissed off one of Lexa’s advisors or ambassadors again isn’t far off. It’s not her fault that just about all of them are idiotic morons anyway. They deserve everything they get.

“Clarke,” Lexa greets, and though it’s clear this meeting has a purpose, there’s still the usual softness that Clarke has come to learn is only allowed with those she trusts deeply. Clarke can’t help but be drawn to it, and she’s not stopped when she steps into Lexa’s space and presses her lips against hers. The kiss is brief—though Clarke has tried in the past, apparently it’s _not_ appropriate to have sex in the throne room—and Clarke pulls away slightly, resting her head with Lexa’s.

“You called?” Clarke says, and it makes her stomach flutter when she sees Lexa’s rare smile.

“ _Sha_ , we must talk.”

“Something wrong?” Clarke asks as she steps back, not missing how Lexa’s fingers twitch as if to reach out and stop her.

Lexa sighs. “Things have started going missing in the Tower.” She states, clearing cutting to the chase.

Clarke blinks. “Well, firstly, as your lover I’m a _little_ offended that you immediately suspect _me_ —“

“No that’s not—“ Lexa clenches her jaw. She forces a steadying breath and her eyes are soft and placating when they stare up at her. “I am not accusing you.”

“Oh.” Clarke frowns slightly. “Is it strange that I’m also kind of a little offended you _don’t_ think it’s me?”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Clarke, I know you wouldn’t steal from me.” She says and Clarke like always feels her body relax at the warmth in Lexa’s tone. “However, I _do_ know, that you have been teaching Aden.”

Clarke scoffs. “What? Me? Pfft, no, of course not.”

Lexa raises her brow.

Clarke sighs. “I haven’t been _explicitly_ teaching him, it’s not my fault he looks up to me you know. Ever since I rescued he’s been following me around like a duckling that’s imprinted.”

“So you haven’t been teaching him how to steal then?” Lexa questions, crossing her arms over her chest.

Clarke brings her hand to her neck. “Well, not _exactly_ —“

“Clarke!” someone shouts, the doors smacking open as a blur of blond streaks into the throne room. She must have pissed off the Gods or something because out of _any_ time that Aden could have turned up, he chooses now, the boy practically sliding to a halt as he stares up at her excited. “I did it!” he beams, pride in his voice as he near vibrates with excitement.

Clarke can’t help but soften at his presence. She can admit that she’s grown quite fond of the boy over the few months. “Did what?” she asks, knowing he must be seriously excited if he hasn’t even acknowledged Lexa’s presence.

He grabs her sleeve. “Gustus! I finally managed to steal from him!”

“Oh that’s brilliant!” Clarke grins. He had been trying to get something off the surprisingly vigilant man for the entire month. In instinct she hauls him into a proud hug. “My little thief,” she smiles and ruffles his hair. A clearing of the throat has her freezing.

She swallows as she glances to Lexa who stands there with nothing but a raised brow.

Clarke slowly turns to Aden and kneels down. “Hey, bud, you uh, you know those secret passageways I told you about?”

His excited demeanour brightens even more. “Those are so cool! I never even knew we have them!”

“Yes, well, I think it’d be best if you went for them. Right now. Run. Go.”

Aden opens his mouth when Lexa cuts him off. “No, you will stay Aden.”

Aden jumps like he’s just realised Lexa is there. It doesn’t pass her notice how almost instantly he shrinks in on himself and positions him behind her legs. She groans internally. Great, he really is a duckling that’s imprinted on her.

“Lexa,” Clarke starts, raising her hands. “I can explain.”

Lexa gives her a look. “You’ve no need. I understand what has happened.”

“Look, admittedly, I can see that at first glance _perhaps_ it doesn’t look the greatest.”

“He is to be the next Heda, the next Commander.” Lexa states, stepping towards her. Clarke fights the urge to step back. She’s getting flashbacks to the first time she had met Lexa. “And you are training him to be a _thief._ ”

“First off, I’m not training him to _be_ a thief,” Clarke refutes, to which Lexa glares at her. “I’m just showing him how to act like one. I mean, come on, he’s a nightblood, he’ll be Heda some day, can you think of a better cover? No one would suspect him!”

Lexa inches closer and Clarke does step back this time, knowing she treads dangerously from Lexa’s darkening features.

“Okay, okay, too far, gotcha, but—“ and she raises a finger then, a hand coming behind her to hover over Aden protectively. “There is something you gain from this.” Lexa pauses in her slow stalk forward. Clarke takes that to mean she has her attention. “Taking out the thieving aspect, I have him learning ways of stealth. You train him well, I know that, as a warrior he will one day be brilliant and something to be feared. But there are things I can show him that you can’t.”

She knows she’s caught Lexa’s interest when she tilts her head. Her expression softens ever so slightly, curiosity replacing the hardness. “Go on.”

“He’s learning the passages that I doubt some even you know about. I’ve taught him the signs to look for in another thief, what shows they are skilled and what shows they are amateurs. I could take him to any bar and he could pick out all the criminals through sight alone.” She takes a breath. “Plus, he is understanding that the more information you gather, for _any_ type mission, not just thievery, is vital. He’s spent a month tailing Gustus and learning his patterns. He will apply that skill in his later actions when he is Heda.”

Lexa clenches her jaw, a muscle twitching from the side, but Clarke thinks she’s won when her shoulders deflate. “You raise interesting points.” She mutters with slotted eyes.

Clarke offers a charming smile. “Enough to be let off?” she tempts.

Lexa is silent a while. Her stare is unflinching, drilling right into her. But Clarke can see that gears that turn in Lexa’s head as she considers, so with a subtle breath of relief she watches as Lexa steps back. “He will need to return what he has taken.”

Clarke tries to tame her relieved grin and fails. She turns behind her and looks down at Aden who seems to share in their relief at escaping Lexa’s wrath. Clarke thinks it over in her mind before she comes to a decision. “Aden, you know how I've shown you how to remove things without people noticing, yes?”

He tilts his head before nodding.

“There’s great skill in replacing it like it was never taken. Do as Heda says, returning the possessions, but do not let them see you. Otherwise you blow your cover and lose any future chances, understand?”

He grins wide. “ _Sha Klark_!” he beams and, after giving a rushed bow and goodbye to Lexa, runs off to do as he’s told. Clarke smiles fondly at him before she turns back to face Lexa. She still looks a little annoyed, but it’s clear she’s dodged an arrow and is in the clear.  
“You truly are a spectacle Clarke.” She huffs and Clarke feels her smile widen.

“Is that a compliment?”

Lexa’s eyes soften. “Always,” she murmurs, and when Lexa steps forward Clarke meets her. Clarke’s glad at the lack of guards in the room, because the kiss turns innocent to heated fast, as Clarke’s hand unintentionally slips around Lexa’s neck and pulls her in, her other tangling in her hair. Lexa’s hands slip to her waist and her back, and soon Clarke is subtly inching Lexa further back until her legs hit the throne and she abruptly falls into it. It was Clarke’s plan though and just as quickly is she settling herself in Lexa’s lap.

“Clarke,” Lexa warns, though in contradiction to her words she moans softly when Clarke’s lips find themselves at her neck.

“It’s not sacrilege when you’re the god,” she mutters into her skin, dragging her teeth over Lexa’s throat and feeling Lexa arch into her. Her breathing stutters and she pants.

“We, we shouldn’t—“

Clarke pulls away from her neck and meets her back at her lips, kissing her deeply. She’s breathing hard against her when she pulls back, grinning when Lexa’s mouth trails after her. “Say no and I’ll stop.” She whispers, deliberately staying out of reach of Lexa’s lips.

Lexa takes a moment to catch her breath, but when her eyes open and lock with Clarke’s, her gaze is dark and full of want. She swallows and Clarke longingly watches her throat bob. Her hand comes up and cradles Clarke’s cheek, bringing her forward so their foreheads touch.

“You are a terrible influence.” Lexa breathes and Clarke grins so wide her cheeks ache.

“Is that a yes?” she whispers, and Lexa merely leans forward in lieu of a verbal response and greedily connects their mouths. Clarke sighs into it and lets herself get lost in the taste of her, the way her skin is warm to touch and the shudders she elicits, the moans she gains whenever she presses into her just right that always sends Clarke’s mind whirling. She can barely think when Lexa fingers start trailing down her front, Clarke rolling into her and delighting in Lexa’s sharp intake of her breath, when suddenly she hears a bang and the distinct sound of someone stumbling into the room.

“Heda,” the intruder announces, but Clarke knows that voice and sighs as she leans back from Lexa. She turns her head around and glares at Anya who’s staring at them with a mix of exasperation and discomfort.

“Really?” Clarke drawls. What did she do to piss off the universe so hard, she hasn’t killed someone in months—surely karma must be on her side for a while?

But Clarke knows the moment is gone however. So with a long-suffering sigh she eases herself off Lexa’s lap and adjusts her ruffled clothing. It’s with a barely hidden smirk that she watches Lexa do the same, bursting to her feet and clearing her throat. Her face is still flushed and Clarke honestly wouldn’t love anything more than to just shove her back into the throne, but when she glances to Anya she sees her looking strangely serious. The fact that she hasn’t made a single comment on what she’d walked in on is telling enough. Normally Anya revels in having something to snipe at her with.

Clarke frowns as Lexa comes up to her side. “Anya, would you like to tell me why you have burst in here unannounced?” Lexa asks, though it is very much order, her voice is rough and low. Clarke finds it momentarily distracting and tries desperately to not just jump her there.

Anya swallows before she speaks. “Someone has been killed in Polis.” She says and they both freeze.

“What?” Lexa pushes through gritted teeth, stepping forward. “Where? When?”

“Late last night. In the Skaikru district.”

Clarke loses her breath. Before she can say anything however the doors slam open again. All heads in the room snap to a limping intruder who staggers into the room followed by a stumbling guard.

“Heda,” the guards pants, clearing trying to get back their breathing. “I tried to stop her, I apologise but—“

“Clarke you have to come, _now_ ,” the intruder says, and Clarke blinks when she realises it’s Raven. The guard tries to grab Raven’s arm and haul her back but Clarke raises her hand.

“She’s with me, let her go,” she orders, and she’s actually a little surprised when it works and the guard complies. Raven glares at him before looking back to her. “Raven, what is it? You know you can’t just barge in here like this.” Clarke reminds her.

“Atom is dead.”

Clarke feels static burst in her ears. Her throat is suddenly deathly dry. “What?” she croaks. She feels Lexa’s hand gently close around her fingers and Clarke releases a shaky breath, it cuts through the numbness and instead leaves her angry. If someone has killed Atom there will be hell to pay. “Where?” Clarke snaps, stepping towards her. Raven frowns at her and Clarke loses her patience. “Where Raven!”

“West side,” Raven hastily answers, eyes wide. “Skaikru district.”

Clarke sees Anya and Lexa share a glance. Lexa catches her eye too, but Clarke shakes her head at her at the silent question of whether she knows what’s going on. She’s in the dark as she is.

“Show me.” Clarke orders.

Raven glances to Lexa once before she nods and turns around.

-

Clarke met Atom when she first came to Polis.

Their meeting had been accidental, both of them had unknowingly stalked the same target, and when they’d gone for their house while they were out they had quite literally stumbled into each other. Clarke can still remember how furious she’d been, but Atom had found it hilarious and had simply laughed. It had only angered her more, yet the longer she listened to him chuckle and smile with boyish charm, she found herself smiling a little too. Sometimes, when everything is always so consistently dark, it’s better to light the match yourself to brighten it. So in the end Clarke had begrudgingly laughed with him.

Though Clarke controls Polis, it’s far too big to do so on her own, and Atom was one of those just under her who helped see over some of quarters of the territory. He took the Skaikru district, as like her he was Skaikru too, and quite enjoyed stealing from those who’d shunned him when he was younger. Mischief was in his blood, and really it hadn’t taken long till he found enjoyment in the art of thievery.

She’s gotten to know him quite a bit over these few years. She knows he despises winter but lives for summer, would much rather bake in the sun to a crisp than freeze any day. His favourite food isn’t food at all but this drink that’s only made up in the mountains in this secluded bar he swears to her is real. He has been bonded with his partner for five years now, and has actually been pulling back slightly on the heists and spending more time collecting information and giving it than actually completing jobs himself. Just the other week he’d idly mentioned the possibilities of kids one day.

“Not here of course,” he’d said, giving her that same boyish grin he always does. “Somewhere nicer, you know? With trees and fields.”

“No dreams for Azgeda then?” She had teased and was rewarded with his bark of a laugh.

He had shaken his head at her. “No, no. Maybe somewhere near the deserts. Not in them—far too dangerous—but near, so I can still catch the warm weather. Gods, the snow is the work of demons I swear.”

Clarke swallows the wet lump in her throat. She’s known him for years. He’s been a trusted ally with her for the majority of that time, one of her second in commands. And now he’s gone. Killed. She sucks in a shaky breath and tilts her head up to help keep the tears in.

Oh Gods, she’s going to have to tell his bonded.

There’s a crowd of people as they approach. She hears Anya bark out some commands to clear the way for Heda, and they part like rocks breaking the flow of a stream, muttering and murmuring an incoherent presence of sound that buzzes similar to a mosquito in her ear. She’s not focused on it. She sees nothing as she shoves and pushes her way through. Lexa is keeping a steady pace behind her, never even a metre away from her. It gives Clarke some sense of ease from the molten turmoil in her chest.

Raven’s leading the way. Despite her limp she’s surprisingly fast. Clarke knows they’ve made it when she hears her sharp intake of breath.

She’s instantly barrelling forward then. Raven tries to issue her a warning, it comes a breathless mutter in her ear of _wait_ but she doesn’t care and keeps moving. She stumbles at the sudden lack of bodies. There’s a manmade circle now, the crowd centring around here.

Around Atom.

There’s more shouting now. It comes muffled. She thinks she catches flashes of it, growls of _stand back!_ and _move for Heda!_ and _out the way!_. But all Clarke can focus on is Atom, truly and utterly Atom, as she slowly sinks to her knees by his corpse—his fucking _corpse_ —and raising a trembling hand she gently places it over his chest. There’s nothing. No warmth. No beat. No sign of life. His eyes are still open, but they’re glazed over and unseeing, his mouth is still gaping like he’d been cut off mid-scream.

He’s dead. He’s truly dead. Everything she ever learnt of him, every memory she’d made and times she’d slugged him in the shoulder for his shitty jokes—it’s for nothing.

She feels someone crouch by her side. She knows who it is without looking.

Clarke sucks in a strangled breath that could be a sob, closing her eyes and leaning forward until she’s bent over him, her forehead gently pressing into his still chest.

“In peace may you leave the shore. In love may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” Her voice shakes, making her whispers sound more like rasps. “May we meet again.”

She leans back up. She can feel a burning behind her eyes, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. Instead she remains silent and carefully closes Atom’s eyelids shut. She feels Lexa’s hand nudge against her own from where she sits next to her, a wordless ask, and though she hesitates eventually she gives in and she tentatively slides her palm into hers. Their fingers entwine. Lexa squeezes tight.

“You cared for him.” She says quietly, but there’s a hidden question in the words. Clarke can’t stop staring at Atom.

“He was of my own. His blood family abandoned him. He was there with me from the very beginning, was one of the first to follow me.” She lets out a shuddered breath. “It’s my duty to protect them. _Him_.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

But Clarke shakes her head. Steels her previously shattered gaze. Clenches her jaw. She blinks herself back to present, and when she glances up she sees Raven has been watching her nervously, arms crossed and fingers repeatedly tapping against her skin. Anya is next to her, but her stare is on Lexa, periodically glancing up around the crowd in a scan of threats.

She stands up. Lexa moves with her, and Clarke swallows thickly before she pulls her hand out of Lexa’s. “We need to clear the crowd.” She doesn’t know how, but her voice isn’t shaking like before. Lexa glances to her and Clarke meets her gaze. There must be something in Clarke’s eye that Lexa sees, because her brow furrows, ever so slightly, before the expression disappears and she is nodding solemnly.

Lexa looks to Anya, at her the dip of her head Anya is returning the gesture and stepping forward.

“Everyone clear out! This is a place of death. Any found lingering and disrespecting the dead are subject to punishment.” Anya’s sharp voice rings around them, and though there’s a wave of discontented mumbles, the crowd are soon fading away and returning back to their own lives. One of the crowd, a young looking city guard whose sweating all over, only makes it back a single step before Raven’s hand is shooting out and snatching his elbow.

“Uh uh, not you. You’re staying.”

It looks like he wants to argue with her, but as he frantic eyes jump from Raven’s burning stare to Anya, to her, to Heda, the resignation sets in his shoulders and he deflates.

Clarke’s gaze shifts down to Atom, but she stares over his body different now. She frowns when she finds a complete lack of blood. It looks like he’d fallen backwards, as if he’d been thrown or someone had lunged at him—but there’s no wound, no entry or exit point anywhere on his chest or stomach. The only sign of actual damage is his hand, that when Clarke squints her eyes she realises has a hole through.

What the fuck happened here?

There’s still a deafening static funneling into her ears, but she tries to focus back. There’s a conversation going on around her that had probably started while she had been visually examining the body, and it’s instinctual when she sees Lexa’s lips move and she focuses back on reality.

“—you were here when Atom was killed?” Lexa says, her face that familiar stoic mask as she stares down the city guard. Clarke’s eyes snap towards him.

He gulps at the now combined stare of her and Lexa. “Y-Yes,” he stammers. He pulls in a shaky breath. “I was on patrol, I heard screaming—“

“Why was he screaming? Was he in pain?” Clarke steps forward, and she can’t stop the anger from working its way into her voice. It’s a moment later however that a gentle hand is grasping her wrist, pulling her back. Clarke glares at Lexa, fully intending on throwing her off, but there’s something in Lexa’s eyes that makes her pause. The softness. The pleading.

So instead she grits her teeth and steps back.

Lexa’s hand doesn’t move from her wrist.

He eyes her nervously before continuing. “He was running. Was shoving people out the way, running like nothing I’ve ever seen. I was worried he was going to hurt himself or someone else, so I grabbed him when he got near, held him still.” The guard’s eyes briefly fall then. He looks at Atom, and Clarke can read the pity, the guilt, the lack of understanding. “He just… he kept screaming, saying there was someone after him, kept pointing behind him but when I looked I saw nothing. I saw _nothing_. There was no one there. It was just the street. A couple onlookers. There was no one.”

He finally looks back up again. “And he just, he just _died_. At my feet. He- He let out this scream, I never knew a man could ever make a scream like that, and then he just dropped to the ground.”

They stay silent at after the recount. The confusion is almost palpable as everyone shares uneasy glances. “You’re saying he just… dropped dead?” Clarke asks, disbelief obvious in her tone.

“If you are lying, you will find the consequences severe.” Lexa mutters from her side.

His eyes blow wide, his jaw dropping open. He frantically looks to them all. “I’m not lying! I swear by the Gods. I was just _there_. He was screaming, he was sobbing, begging for his life…”

“Who was chasing him?” Clarke cuts off but the guard just stares at her with pleading eyes.

“I told you. There was nothing. There was no one. Maybe he was mad, I don’t know. One minute he was standing and the next he was on the ground.”

Anya frowns. “Could he have been poisoned?”

“If he’s running from something that wasn’t there, maybe he got poisoned and started hallucinating?” Raven adds on.

“Do you know any poisons that could have achieved that and align with his story?” Lexa asks, and they all go quiet. They look to Raven, who slowly shakes her head, and then to the guard.

He instantly raises his hand. “I’m not lying! I’m telling the truth!”

“People don’t just drop dead. Have you checked his body?” Clarke says, and there’s a slight threat that weighs down on the air. Thankfully he hastily shakes his head.

“No, no, I haven’t touched him. He is dead. I do not want ill with the dead or spirits.”

Clarke sighs. Slowly she walks around his body, and she can feel the groups’ eyes on her. She crouches down and gently picks up his left hand. It’s disturbing the ripped hole in it; she almost throws up at the sight of it. It’s only respect for him that she doesn’t.

“What happened here? His hand?” she asks, glancing up to the guard.

“I-I don’t know. When I grabbed him it was already like that.”

“It would have bled extensively. There has to be a trail.” She stands up again, a crease in her brow. “Which way did he come from?”

The guard blinks before raising a finger and pointing behind her. She follows the direction, narrows her eyes in some vain attempt to try imagine Atom’s path, what made him come here, what could have possibly happened that could explain the unexplainable. Clarke only realises Lexa hasn’t yet let go of her wrist when she feels her grip tighter. She blinks, turning to focus back on Lexa. She’s staring at her closely.

“I will take him to the Tower to properly question him. He is obviously scared. He may have left important details out without realising.” Lexa whispers the words close, so only she can hear. Clarke frowns at her.

“You going to torture him?”

Lexa shoots her a glare. “No, Clarke. I’m not going to torture him. You forget that I am not a criminal.”

“For now.”

Lexa narrows her eyes, but Clarke can see she’s biting back her smile. She squeezes her hand again, gently trailing her finger up the underside of her wrist, and Clarke tries to take the contact for what it is. The support that it is. She feels like she’s one step from falling off a cliff, but she focuses on the warmth of the contact, on its familiarity, its steady presence, and when Lexa offers her that rare small smile she returns it.

When it seems like she’s deemed Clarke well enough, Lexa looks to Anya. “Take him to the Tower. Call for Gustus.”

Anya’s grin is terrifying and dangerously cat-like. “Am I to make him speak?”

“You are to _talk_ to him. Nothing more. Questions, Anya.” Anya frowns at her like she’s taken away her favourite toy. Clarke leans in to Lexa’s ear.

“See? Even Anya agrees.”

Lexa pushes her away. “Anya. Take him.”

Anya sighs, but she listens to Heda’s orders and grabs the guard’s arm. He winces from the pressure, and since Clarke has had experience of Anya’s manhandling, she feels an ounce of sympathy for him. “Off we go then.” She mutters, and pulls him roughly forward as she stalks back the way they came.

Raven is still awkwardly standing off to the side. It’s clear she’s beyond uncomfortable in the presence of Heda and her closest guard. Clarke drifts closer to her.

“Stay here and watch over Atom. When Lexa and I return, get back to the bar. I’ve no doubt word of Atom’s death has already spread. You will need to get back and control it.”

Raven clenches her jaw. “And what do I say Clarke? Atom’s _dead_. And we don’t even… we don’t even know _how_. What the hell do I tell them?”

Clarke swallows. “You say Atom is dead. That we don’t know who killed him but that they will be found. Someone has taken one of our own; it will not go unanswered.”

Something new enters Raven’s brown eyes. She raises her chin, gives her a firm nod. She briefly glances to Lexa, but soon she is focusing back on Clarke and stepping back. “Good luck.” She offers, and Clarke returns the nod.

Lexa and her linger. They share uneasy glances.

Clarke tries to give her a wry smile. “You ever notice how our beginnings always start in blood trails?”

Lexa’s face is grim and she doesn’t smile with her.

-

They follow the trail to the backstreets of Polis.

Clarke frowns as they slip in through the tucked away alley, designed to look like it’s blended into the wall. She can feel Lexa’s interest peak the further they push. She was right in that Atom’s hand had bled, there’s red streaks on the cobble floor, some even on the cold stone walls. They delve deeper within the hidden streets till they wander into a tight path that Clarke knows as one of the entry points to the secret street system for thieves.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.” Clarke mentions as they walk. It’s colder here; the stone feels irrationally menacing and like it’s grinning with a predator’s smile at her. There’s a light mist that covers the ground.

“This is how you slip around the city then?” Lexa asks, and when Clarke looks to her she sees that curious delight, the one she’d seen back when she had first met Lexa and she had taken her underground to the bar.

Clarke shrugs. “It has its purposes. But they are ours. If I catch word that you’ve planted a guard near here…”

Lexa smirks slightly. “Will I be sleeping on the floor?”

Clarke snorts. “You won’t be sleeping at all.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Perhaps.”

Lexa sighs. “You realise the conflict you offer me, don’t you?”

Clarke smiles and faces her. “Simple choice Lexa. Me, or your sense of duty.” Lexa raises her brow, but Clarke merely echoes the action, watching her closely. Eventually Lexa huffs and shakes her head.

“Impossible.” She mutters and Clarke nearly laughs. Instead she grins and knocks her shoulder with Lexa’s. It gets her a glare, but there’s a hidden softness that takes away any heat.

They fall back into silence. Clarke knows that Lexa is acting especially playful because of the weights she can feel pressing on her chest, she doesn’t know how Lexa’s senses it, but she must do, because it is a wordless action when a hand is slipping into her own and stroking her knuckle. Lexa looks to her, and that previous playfulness is gone, but the softness and warmth remain.

Clarke already knows what she’s going to say and shakes her head. She blinks back the wetness in her eyes. “Not here,” she says, and she hates how it comes out as a croak. “Later.”

Concern makes Lexa purse her lips, but she doesn’t object. She nods.

She feels like she should say something more, _do_ something more, but then all of sudden Lexa is grabbing her arm and pulling her to an abrupt halt. “There.” She breathes, pointing up in front of them. Clarke stills when she sees a stall, but it’s broken and looks like something has collided with it.

Or someone.

She’s running before she realises. The sharp tap of her boots ring in eerie echoes as she sprints, bouncing off the walls and making it sound like it’s an army of them running, not just two people. She stumbles to a stop by the stall and just keeps momentum from making her topple over. She approaches the caved in stall, her brow furrowing as she kneels down, staring intently at the wooden edge of the stall that sticks out like a pole.

It’s coated in blood.

“Here. He ripped his hand here.” Clarke shuffles a little closer, reaching a hand and carefully touching the bloodied wood. It’s completely dry, the red encrusted into the wood. There’s a small equally dry puddle below as if it had been dripping through the night. Lexa crouches down beside her.

“He must have crashed into it.” She murmurs. When Clarke glances at her she sees her examining the broken stall with sharp eyes.

Clarke bites her tongue. “We are thieves Lexa. We are taught how to run. There’s nothing else in this alley, and you’re saying that Atom, a trained thief, would manage to run into the singular object here?”

Lexa’s eyes are cautious as they flick up to her. “True. But, if the guard wasn’t lying from before, then Atom was afraid. Maybe terrified. Perhaps he was so scared he wasn’t as aware of his surroundings.”

“What could possibly terrify him so much?”

“I do not know.”

Clarke lets out a shaky breath. She feels like she can’t breathe. “We’re missing something.” She mutters. She shakes her head. “I don’t know any person that could make him that afraid. And he… he must have crashed into it and landed with his hand out, so his palm went straight through,” she squints her eyes as she tries to imagine out the path, letting her finger graze the course wood, feeling splinters nip at her tips. “But instead of waiting or calling for help or even giving up… he ripped it out.”

Lexa winces. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says. She turns her head and locks eyes with Lexa. “But he didn’t even try to break it off. That hole in his hand, albeit… bloody, it’s clean through and through. Why would he do something so incredibly reckless and stupid if he wasn’t terrified out of his mind?”

Lexa stares at her. Her hand comes out and she grabs Clarke’s, bringing it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss. “I don’t know.” Lexa answers. “I don’t know.”

-

There’s an odd silence as she walks through the usually familiar tunnel.

It feels strangely alien now. She’s so used to that steady wave of sound whenever she’s near, a collision of voices, both light and deep, scratchy and harmonic, but as she approaches the door to the hidden bar there’s nothing. It’s silent. Utterly silent. She doesn’t think she has ever experienced that before, not here.

She knows the cause though. And when she sucks in a sharp breath and pushes open the door and steps through, the silent patrons’ heads turning to her; she knows. Some on high stools some on low, some standing, some looking down into their mug like it holds answers that need to be given; she knows. The overwhelming sorrow that infests yet underneath that dangerous undercurrent that simmers like an anxious flame. She knows.

She knows the fury that burns beneath is one spark away from razing entire worlds.

She knows this will not be easy.

She walks through the silent bar. Some eyes remained fix on her, and while some look to her in hope and faith others are wary and uneased, and worse, some even look to her with fury; a burning accusation. Of the few that offer her a nod she returns them, the tap of Clarke’s boots against the stone ground sounding so irrationally sharp in the deafening quiet.

Raven stands behind the bar. A rag is thrown over her shoulder, but her arms are crossed and her face is tightly drawn. When Clarke nears she sees Raven’s shoulders somehow both tighten and slack.

“Atom’s body is taken care of?” Clarke asks her. Normally your voice tends to get lost in the constant sound within this place, hence why criminals and thieves tend to congregate here anyway, whether Clarke’s own or not, but it’s so silent it’s as if she shouted the words at the top of lungs.

Raven swallows. “He is with Heda.” She answers. She shifts uncomfortable on her feet. “She says he will given back to us tomorrow so we may burn him.”

Clarke can hear what Raven doesn’t say. “We can trust her, Raven. You forget that Atom is Lexa’s own too. He was killed on Polis soil.”

“It’s Atom, Clarke.” Raven says quietly. “He- He needs to be with us, his bonded.”

“And he will. But who better to find Atom’s killer than Heda herself? She has resources we do not. Do not forget that.”

Raven still looks displeased by it, but Clarke sees her shoulders finally relax. She gives her a stiff nod. “Alright,” she breathes. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. Clarke’s heart aches for her. “Alright. You want a drink then?”

Clarke doesn’t mention how its noon. Considering what has happened, she doesn’t really care. “Yeah. You got that mead from Ouskejon?”

“The one with the spices, yeah?” Clarke nods and Raven returns the gesture. She pauses for a moment, glancing around the still silent bar, before looking to her again.

“I think I’ve got a couple hidden up stairs. I’ll be back.” Raven offers a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she takes the rag off her shoulder and places it on the bar top. She slips out the side and down a dark narrow hall in the corner of the room. Clarke feels something tighten in her chest. She’s never felt so alien in her own home. But is this even home anymore? She spends more time at the Tower than here. She comes daily, but she doesn’t sleep here anymore, doesn’t rise and collapse here, always a shout away from her own.

Low murmurs start to rise up behind her. She can’t make out the words.

She knows she has to meet with Atom’s bonded before the end of the day. She would have gotten word by now, and if Lexa has Atom then she’ll need to go to his bonded to assure her herself that he is in safe hands. There’s much distrust around Heda with thieves. After all, she is pretty much the epitome of the law, the thing they so often break.

And they all know what happens if the law catches up with them.

Clarke sighs, but her breath shakes and she has to screw her eyes shut. She should have been there. She should have been _here._ Even if a part of her knows it wouldn’t have a made a difference, she doesn’t care—maybe she would have heard him or seen him or caught word if she wasn’t nestled up into the top of the Tower. She digs her nails into the aged wood of the bar. This is so very bad.

She’s not really paying attention to anything, something she very rarely does, but she catches the words anyway. The distaste and rage that drips from them.

“She is a traitor. You think she cares for us now she’s in Heda’s lap? The only time she comes running is when her own is killed.” Someone growls. It’s a man’s voice.

Clarke tilts her head behind her. She hears a second voice join in, wary and low. “Don’t say that.” He snaps. “Atom’s blood isn’t even cold yet.”

The first voice scoffs. “He wouldn’t be dead at all if it wasn’t for her.”

Clarke turns around. She’s quick to find the sources of the voices. They sit at nearby high table, only big enough to seat two people, and the two men that sit there are of starkly different ages. One of them is old and his face weathered through the years of his life, but the other is young, cocky. She doesn’t need to guess whose voice belongs to which.

“You think me a traitor?” she calls out, and the murmurs abruptly snuff out like a candle being blown. Before the silence was heavy with sorrow, but now its heavy in a different way. The tension is immediate in its strike of the air.

The man is caught mid sentence. His companion glares at him, shaking his head and muttering into his mug as he brings it up to drink from. He offers no support to the younger boy. This seems to anger the man, but he straightens in his stool, dark hair and flat features hardening. He gets off his seat and the older man curses into his drink.

“You warm that bitch’s bed. I bet you Atom wasn’t killed by some stranger, he was murdered by Heda. With you on her leash she has never been so close to wiping us out.”

Silence. No one speaks to disprove him; no one speaks to agree.

Clarke slowly slides off the stool. Her eyes don’t shift off him. There’s a burning in her chest that she can’t tell whether is from grief or anger. Maybe it’s both. “You speak boldly.” She mutters carefully. She draws herself up and she watches as the man swallows. There’s a wave of unease that sweeps through the room.

But despite his obvious discomfort, he raises his chin. “You abandon us just to pleasure yourself. I speak true.” His lips pull into a snarl. “You have become nothing but a lapdog ever since you became _her_ lover.”

She flexes her fingers, pulls in a controlled breath. “You are still my people no matter who I share my bed with.” She says but it only seems to make him angrier.

“ _Your_ people? You fuck _Heda_ , what do you think that psychotic bitch will do when she grows bored of you? We all know she uses you. You are a threat to us all. Atom is the first to die. Not the last.”

Clarke resists the urge to curl her hands into fists. “You think me unfit to lead then?”

He scoffs. “Unfit? You will kill us all.” He growls. “You’re damn right I think you unfit.”

Clarke tilts her head. “If you believe so then challenge me. If you think you are what will save us, then I will not stop you from stepping forward.” He blinks at her. He glances to the old man that has stopped drinking and is staring at her now. He slowly turns and meets the man’s gaze. He shakes his head.

The man grinds his teeth. His burning brown eyes snap up to meet hers. “You will lead us to ruin.”

It’s a confirmation. Clarke steps forward and she doesn’t miss how everyone seems to suck in a collective sharp breath. She reaches to her side and unsheathes her dagger gifted to her from Lexa. She flips the blade between her fingers. “If you truly think me unfit; challenge me. But, I remind you of one thing,” in a blink she slams the blade into the bar top. It makes a sharp bang and the man flinches. The handle shakes rapidly back and forth as she steps back “There is a reason my title is only ever uttered as whisper.” She gestures to the dagger. “Do you wish to challenge me?”

He looks between her and the dagger. She watches him clench his fists. He’s about to take a step forward when the old man’s hand shoots out in surprising speed and grabs his arm. “Don’t you dare,” he hisses in a whisper, but it only seems to motivate him more. He rips his arm from his grasp.

He walks over to her, his tan fingers wrap around the dagger. He rips it out with a grunt and throws it to her. Clarke catches it in one hand. “I challenge you.” He leans down and reaches into his boot, pulling out his own knife. “You will kill us all.”

“What is your name then?” she asks. He pulls himself up.

“Suni.”

“You are a fool Suni.”

He stiffens at the insult. “You will die a traitor.” He spits.

Clarke merely smiles.

She lunges at him not a second later. His eyes widen and he only raises his arm to block her just in time. She hears a chorus scrape of chairs as everyone seems to get to their feet. It’s oddly amusing how wordless it is, how without comment tables are quickly moved and stools are pulled back so there’s a makeshift space for a fight. It has happened before. Not a challenge, but a fight. Her people position themselves in a line, cutting the bar in half. They cover the door. They won’t let anyone through, her or him.

It’s clear that while Suni is young he does have some training. But it’s that scrappy, roughneck style that they all have, and it only takes a few moments until she recognises his style and his moves become predictable. He charges at her with a primal snarl but Clarke steps out last minute, grabs his shoulders and throws him so he hits the bar. She strides over and before he can get to his feet she roughly grabs him by his collar and hauls him up. She slams his head into the bar top and drags him across, smashing into plates and mugs and glass bottles that clatter and crash to the floor. Their knives are lost in the chaos.

She throws him off once she’s run out of room. His face is battered with thin slices and cuts. He sways up to his feet faster than she expects and he uses the advantage. He comes at her with a roar and she’s not quick enough to dodge his strike at her stomach. She grunts but takes it, but Suni is already snatching a half-broken glass from the ground and lurching for her. She grabs his outstretched arm and pulls him forward, kicking him in the back and sending him staggering. He almost topples into the crowd, but when he falls into them multiple hands grab him and shove him back into the ring.

“Traitor!” he yells, and Clarke steps back, catching her breath as Suni’s face grows redder and redder. “You damn us all by whoring yourself to the Commander!”

Clarke’s self-control is slipping. She snarls low enough that some of people lining the makeshift ring actually step back. She lunges at him but so does he and they collide in a mess of rage-filled fists and hits. She takes a shot at her ribs but gets him back in the jaw, and as he stumbles her leg flicks out and hits him square in the chest. He crashes back into the bar, hands shooting out and grabbing the edge to keep him upright.

“Do you forget who controls the land you walk on Suni? Do you not wonder why you feel so secure enough to even have the _nerve_ to challenge me?” she strides for him as she spits the words, and Suni hastily pulls himself up. “Why do you think they name me Wanheda?”

He grabs a nearby overturned stool and throws it at her. But her anger is burning fast now that the match is lit. She doesn’t think as warmth rushes through her arm, faster and hotter than it usually is, her arm flinging to the side and stool following. It smashes into the stone wall in a parade of splinters.

He’s panting now. She can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or fear. Her lips pull into a snarl as she reaches him, dodging a punch and shoving him forward. He tries to turn around but she kicks out the back of legs harshly and he falls to his knees with a grunt. Clarke comes forward and grabs his hair, ripping his head back. She reaches out behind her and focuses on where she’d seen the dagger last. Warmth bleeds through her arm and the dagger zips into her hand.

She presses it to his throat.

“You are a fool, Suni, an utter fool.” She breathes. Suni’s harsh breathing stutters even more.

He attempts to struggle against her, but she pulls at his hair harder and digs the blade into his neck. She hears a hiss escape his lips as thin streaks of blood start to trickle down. She remains stone-faced and unmoving. It’s not long until she feels him slump against her. He knows it’s over.

Her fingers tighten in the grip of his dark hair. “Dishonour me all you wish Suni.” She mutters, pulling his head back so he looks straight up at her. She stares him dead in the eye. “But if you dishonour Lexa, there is no place on this world where you will be safe.”

His throat bobs. She presses the blade just that bit harder. She sees a tear slip from the corner of his eye, and though his bottom lip trembles his eyes keep their fire, their hardness, and doesn’t let a sound through. Clarke watches him for a heavy moment. The air runs with so much tension it’s like a powder keg about to go off, she doesn’t think anyone in the room is even breathing.

She stares at him. She stares at his young features.

And slowly, her eyes flick up. She looks to the people that watch her, _her_ people, and she swallows. She sees the old man is staring at her with a pleading gaze. She thinks Suni is his grandson, judging by the roughly similar features and the utter fear and terror in his eyes.

“I know you worry what my relationship with Heda means.” Clarke starts, her voice loud and clear. She knows this an important chance. “But you are my people first. You have always been my people first. Have you not noticed how less of our own have been getting caught? Less lives taken?”

She’s answered with silence, but it’s different from before. A woman with dark blonde hair looks to her. “And what if Heda decides to betray you? Or you, us?”

“Heda is honourable. You know this. You have seen this. She unites the clans with only the intention of peace. Do you think we would be living this peace if she wasn’t on the throne? I know many of you escape war, you _remember_ the wars we fought, over and over again, history of bloodshed repeated with no real cause.”

She glances down to Suni. “You worry, and that is unavoidable. But while you fear her influence on me, you forget my influence on her.”

“So you plan to use her then?” someone calls out. A wave of murmurs follow.

“No.” Clarke says. She knows it would aid her to lie, but Lexa is something she can never lie about. She cares for her too much for that. “Even I am not foolish enough to attempt to manipulate Heda at such a level. In that case, she would destroy us.” And personally Clarke knows that Lexa is far too soft at heart to take such a thing. If she were to do it, it would not be her people that would be destroyed. It would be her. “She is mine as I am hers, something I do not take lightly. You are my people and I will always be tied with you, but if anyone else takes to insulting Lexa in my presence, I will not be as merciful. She is my lover, and I will defend her as such.”

Suni frowns up at her. “Mercy?” he whispers.

Clarke looks to him. She hears the hope in his voice. “Mercy.” She repeats. She stares at him a moment longer before suddenly pulling the blade away and shoving him forward. He lands on his hands and knees. Clarke steps back, glancing around the room. There are a few broken chairs, overturned tables and smashed glass littering the floors. Suni’s blood still drips from her blade.

There’s an uneasy silence as everyone seems to take in what has happened. It’s broken by the old man lunging through the crowd and grabbing Suni. He picks the boy up, who sways on his feet. “You fool! You utter fool!” he curses him, and he even slaps the upside of his head. “If your mother was still alive she would be ashamed!”

Suni doesn’t say anything. When he’s dragged to the exit her people part and let him through. Clarke releases a shaky breath. She’s about to find somewhere to collapse when she hears her name being called from behind. She sees Raven standing against the narrow hallway, leaning with her arms crossed and a raised brow.

“I leave you alone for five minutes.” She mutters. Clarke finds herself laughing breathlessly. Raven shakes her head but smiles at her. Her eyes shift to over Clarke’s shoulder. “Alright you lot, shows over. Clean up this mess. Clarke has proved herself more than enough.”

She doesn’t get silence this time, but low mumbles of agreement. Clarke has to hide the relief that slams into her so hard she nearly stumbles. Raven must notice because she nods at her as her people start shifting from behind and moving to do Raven’s orders. Everyone knows it is a very bad idea to piss off Raven.

“Come on, I’ve still got that beer if you’re up for it.”

Clarke glances to her dagger with the boy’s blood. She wipes it against her thigh and places it back into its sheath. She nods and follows after her as Raven turns around and disappears into the hallway.

She feels something settle in her as she follows Raven down the dark hall, pausing by a massive hanging rug with the sewn image of a dragon, wings spread and terrifying head facing forward, flames licking the side. She smiles like she always does when she sees it. Raven rolls her eyes at her before pulling the rug to the side and revealing the hidden door. Clarke opens it and it leads into a narrow staircase that leads downwards. There’s a river of oil that sits in a carefully placed channel at the side. Soft flames burn within, lighting up the dark space.

At the bottom is another door, it’s already unlocked, and when she steps through she feels a knot in her chest loosen at seeing their apartment. She’s been living here with Raven for the past three and a half years. It’s not too large, can’t be considering how deep underground they are, and the kitchen is really just a fire-heated stove and half-open cupboards, hooks with dried meets and spices and herbs, a bowl of fruit sitting on a nearby counter that is really just an apple and an orange.

Raven slips past her and picks a dusty box near the stove. She grunts as she lifts it up and dumps it on the counter. She reaches in, Clarke rubbing her side with a grimace when she feels a pulse of pain from when Suni had got her in the ribs. The adrenaline is starting to wear off. Raven grins as she pulls out two bottles of mead.

“Ah, there we are.” She looks to her and frowns. “You alright?”

Clarke sighs. “I’m fine. It’ll be gone by tomorrow, he was probably no older than nineteen. He didn’t pack that much of a punch.”

Raven purses her lips. “You shouldn’t have let him challenge you.”

She takes the offered bottle from Raven. She twists the top off and takes in a long swig. Gods, she’s missed this. Raven can only make it once a year. There’s this spice that only grows in Ouskejon for a month in autumn. The flavour is crisp and tangy. She lets out a pleased hum as she swallows it down and glances to Raven. “People are uneasy. I needed to send a message.”

“Yes, but do you have to be so dramatic about it?”

Clarke just grins.

Raven takes a drink from her own and sighs. She nods her head towards the pile of pillows stuffed into the corner of the small room. The only light is the flames that burn off in the fireplace nearby, a few candles littered around that oddly remind Clarke of Lexa. Raven falls into the large pillows by the fire, the rug soft underneath their feet as Clarke slips off her boots and jacket and joins her. She reclines into the position that is so common between them.

They’re silent a long while. The only sound is the gentle crackle of the fire. Clarke sips her drink and feels it wash down her throat with a slight burn. At least alcohol will help with her ribs. She’s still a little miffed that he even got the shot in. She needs to start training again. Maybe she could even ask Lexa. That’s certainly _one_ way of getting her hot and sweaty.

“You going to meet with his bonded today?” Raven asks into the quiet. They don’t look to each other, seeming content with sipping the mead and watching the fire.

Clarke feels her stomach twist painfully. “Yeah.”

“What will you tell her?”

“He was killed.” She taps her fingers against the glass bottle. “What else is there to say?”

Raven pauses. She finally looks to her. “Are you going to say he was murdered?”

Her fingers stop moving. Her eyes slowly turn to meet Raven’s gaze, and she sees the question, she sees the fear. Clarke swallows, but it’s painful and she almost chokes.

Raven pulls in a shuddering breath. “Clarke, do you think it was murder?”

“I don’t know what it is.” She answers honestly. “But… what the guard saw, what _we_ saw when we investigated… Raven he ran into a stall. That’s how he ripped his hand. He literally crashed into it and speared himself.”

Raven winces. “Gods,” she breathes and Clarke nods solemnly.

She sighs and takes another drink. This time it doesn’t taste fresh but of ash. “I don’t know Raven. I really don’t know. Maybe he was killed, maybe he was murdered, maybe he was poisoned we just _don’t know_.” She laughs then, but there are tears in her eyes and it seems to make Raven’s stare sadder. “And… and what happened to him, _how_ it happened…”

She takes in a steadying breath. She stares Raven in the eye.

“Maybe it wasn’t human.”

Raven blinks at her. “What do you mean?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t know. But, Gods Raven nothing makes sense. He just drops dead suddenly? With no obvious cause of death? He runs from something he can’t see, he _screams_ —have you ever even _heard_ him scream before?”

“No,” Raven answers quietly. “No.”

Clarke hates the weights that press on her chest. “We’re missing something. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that. Maybe I’m overthinking it. It wouldn’t be the first time.” She chuckles bitterly. “I just… I don’t know Raven. I don’t know.”

Raven eyes her a long moment before she looks back to the flames. Clarke finishes off the drink. She looks down at it, twisting it beneath her fingers. She sees her reflection in the glass, the blonde hair and blues eyes that should be familiar.

She doesn’t recognise the face.

-

The sun is dying now.

There’s red steaks in the sky like someone has managed to strike a blade in the heart of the sun itself, and now it bleeds over the world it has kept such careful vigil over for these centuries. There are few clouds, just enough for them to appear as if they’d been dipped into ink, and Clarke watches as she sits against the slight incline of the grass hill, one knee up and other down. This is one of her favourite places in Polis. Excluding her and Lexa’s room in the Tower.

A sigh escapes her lips as she slowly lowers head so her chin rests on her knee. She stares at the fading sky. It had not been an easy affair meeting with Atom’s bonded. She was still in denial when she turned up at the woman’s place. But Clarke could still see it anyway, in the redness of her eyes and painful blend of both fear and hope as she looked at her.

“Wanheda, you’re Wanheda aren’t you? He- He told me about you. Where is he? People say that he… he…”

Clarke had only needed to say two words for the woman to break.

“I’m sorry.”

She stayed with her till the woman passed out with her exhaustion of grief. It was some of the most painful hours of her life. At the start she was angry, a fury that made her body tremble and fists shake as she paced around the small, tiny house and cursed her and this city and the Gods and the fucker who took Atom.

“Who did it? Who was the one?” she had asked, tears streaming down her cheeks so steadily Clarke thought she had to be made of water.

And she hesitated. Would it be worse to voice her doubts, or to lie in her assurance? Did she say he was murdered or that he was killed? That they had no idea what did it, if it was even a _what_ or a _who_. Was it cruel to give false clarity or a mercy?

“We will find the one.” She had eventually said. Because that was the closest to the truth she could give. She _would_ find the one. Whether human or not.

Clarke watches a flock of birds drift across the sky. They form a near perfect ‘v’ shape, except for the one right at the back on the left side. It lingers behind, something awkward in the flap of its wing. It must be injured. It still flies though, does its best to keep up with the others. She wonders how they feel so high up, feeling the wind in their feathers. She should visit Jake again. What she would do to just forget everything and fly above the clouds.

She hears a horse’s huff from behind her, a small grunt as it stamps its feet into the ground. Clarke turns around and looks to her horse, the one that she had gotten with Lexa when they’d rescued Aden. “Antsy, are you?” she asks, and her horse, Dire, huffs again.

Clarke raises a hand, and Dire comes forward, lowering her head and accepting Clarke’s touch. She strokes her muzzle, feels the soft velvet texture under her fingers and Dire’s eyes close, coming closer and dipping her head lower. Clarke reaches around and scratches Dire’s ear in a strange sort of her side-hug, leaning against the horse’s head.

She sighs, but she feels tear push against her eyes and she screws them shut. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, holding Dire closer. She thinks it senses her distress somehow, because it nuzzles her, as if trying to offer comfort. It makes her laugh a little at least. How a horse can comfort her so well is beyond her. It takes a small while, but eventually she is able to blink open her eyes again and have no tears spill.

She watches the sun set. She doesn’t know how much time passes until she hears the soft pad of feet. The steps are careful, but Clarke feels both saddened and prideful when she recognises who it is just by the shuffle of their movements alone. She lets Dire go, and the horse nudges her once before raises its head and trots off, probably to find a patch of grass to nibble on.

Lexa sits herself next to her. “I thought I would find you here.” She says, and she keeps her voice quiet, and Clarke thinks that she knows how delicate this moment to be.

Clarke continues to watch the sky bleed. “There’s no other place like it.” She murmurs back. “You can see all from the Tower, but you are so high, you feel more like a god than anything. But here it is high enough that you can see it all, but you still feel human. No power, no responsibilities.”

“The sun falls beautiful tonight.”

Clarke releases a shuddered breath. “It does.”

She feels Lexa eyes turn to her. She pauses, and Clarke thinks she already knows what she’s going to say, what she’s going to bring up. “Clarke,” she starts, and it’s just that damn word alone that has her resolve crumbling. Her eyes fall to the grass. “I am sorry.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. Atom… he didn’t deserve to die. He didn’t.” She blinks back the tears she’d thought were done for. “And not the way he did. Not in pain, not in fear. Not alone. Gods, he shouldn’t have been fucking alone.”

Lexa remains quiet. The silence is strange, it is both comforting and unnerving. “Who was he?” she asks, and Clarke smiles, but it’s empty and full of such pain her heart throbs in her chest.

It takes her a while to speak the words, but when she starts she finds she can’t stop. “I met him on my first job. I had just come to Polis. My father had died about six months ago then; I had come to Polis for a new start. New beginning. I brought some of my people me with from home. I had always had a talent in thievery, I started at an early age.” She shakes her head. “I believe the Skaikru were relieved when I left.”

“There was this man, big shot, right dick too. Perfect target really. I tracked him the entire day, I watched where he went, who he talked with, where his hands strayed. He always kept one hand near his left pocket. It was where he stored the key to his safe at home.” The sky starts to become more purple than red, the darkness starting to crowd in. She still doesn’t look to Lexa, though she can feel Lexa’s eyes on her. “I stole it off him. It’s all in perception, thievery. He was paranoid, nervous, he jumped at the slightest sounds. He was easy to distract. Thing is, I didn’t realise that I hadn’t been the only one tracking him.”

“I broke in at night. But when I headed for the safe that he kept upstairs, I walked in, and I saw another thief sitting by it, trying to pick it. He looked around my age, but there was something childish about him. Like a young spirit trapped within an old man’s body. I got angry, of course. Told him he was my target. He said, his words, ‘you didn’t call dibs,’ and then proceeded to ignore me and continued the lock.”

Clarke sighs. She slowly turns her head and meet Lexa’s eyes. “The only reason I didn’t fight him was because the target was asleep. Neither of us could risk waking him up. When I told him I would throw his head through the window if I could he laughed, he simply laughed, and when I had threatened him again he just smiled. ‘Lighten up,’ he’d said, ‘we steal from those better than us, if you do not find joy in the darkness, why bother?’” Tears slip from her eyes before she can stop them. “He wanted kids. He was planning for kids. He wanted to leave here, to settle down. He was only ever a thief out of necessity, he had a natural talent for it, but he didn’t care for that. He just wanted to live.”

A sob breaks out.

“He just wanted to live.”

Lexa eyes flick over her helplessly as she looks to her. But eventually, she merely swallows and reaches a hand. “Come here,” she says softly, and Clarke’s in no mood to disobey her. She falls into her and Lexa holds her as if shielding her from a snowstorm, murmuring soothing nothings into her ear as Clarke clings onto her like she’s the only thing that’s keeping her here. She thinks she is.

She buries her nose into the crook of Lexa’s neck and cries. It occurs to Clarke that Lexa has never seen her cry before, not like this. “It’s not your fault,” she hears Lexa say, and she feels Lexa’s hand grip her tighter. “It’s not your fault.” She repeats, and she presses a soft kiss to her hair.

Clarke says nothing.

She doesn’t let herself break for long. It’s a miracle she even broke at all in another’s presence. Because soon she is forcing herself to take steadying breaths, ignoring the hiccups and how they tremble so violently she almost chokes, bites her lip hard enough to bleed to stop the sobs from coming out. She waits until she can breathe again. She’s about to pull away, but she lingers a beat, savouring the feeling of Lexa around her and her scent as all she can smell.

She pulls herself up, stiffly wipes away her tears with the back of her sleeve. One of Lexa’s hands lingers at her wrist. “His body,” Clarke starts, pretending like she hadn’t just been crying into Lexa’s shirt, “did you find anything?”

Lexa sighs as she stares at her. Her eyes are soft and warm, but Clarke can see the pain at them at seeing her distress. “No. We still don’t know how he died. The only injuries he had was his hand, and a small slice at his forearm. It’s too thin,” Lexa rushes to add when Clarke opens her mouth to question her more. “It is minor. It’s more like he nicked himself while cleaning a blade.”

Her mouth closes. Disappointment is a restless snake in her gut. “Who looked over his body? I know he was a thief but… he was cared for, right?”

“Of course. The examiner was my healer, Nyko. I stayed with him and made sure he was treated with respect. Nothing ill happened to him.”

Clarke stares at her. Sometimes she can’t quite believe that the woman that sits next to her is Heda, the great Commander, and even worse her actual lover. She doesn’t think she deserves her at all. “Thank you.” She whispers, and she tries so hard to push the sincerity into her voice.

Lexa softens. “I know you cared for him Clarke. I would never let disrespect come to one of your own.”

Clarke reaches and tangles her hand in Lexa’s. “Thank you.” She repeats. Lexa nods at her. They became quiet again, but there’s a question that’s been swirling around in Clarke’s head all day, and as she sits next to Lexa she finds she can no longer keep it in. “I don’t think it was human.” She whispers.

Lexa meets her gaze. She’s silent for long enough Clarke thinks Lexa is about to call her crazy, when instead she lets out a breath so old sounding and resigned it makes her chest ache. “I don’t think so either.” She mutters. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What are we going to do?” she asks, even if she knows Lexa can’t answer, not really. Lexa holds her hand tighter.

“We will find out why. And we will keep our people safe.”

Clarke can’t do anything but nod.

They don’t speak for a while. She’s feeling less like she’s drowning now, and the sun is nearly gone by this point. Without grief to hide it the coldness is starting to nip at her skin. “We should get back.” She frowns. “How did you find me anyway?”

“You missed dinner. I’ve noticed you come out here more than once. When your horse was missing as well, I knew to come here.” Lexa pauses then, glancing between her and the horse. “I still cannot believe you named her Dire.”

Clarke smiles. It’s small, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “I’m sentimental. And it was better than naming her Wolf.”

“You could have given her a normal name. Perhaps one not after an experience that nearly killed her.”

Clarke shrugs. “She responds to it. She seems to like it.”

Lexa gives her a look. “I believe if she could speak, she would be voicing her disagreement.”

“Well, we’re lucky horses can’t speak, aren’t we?”

They share a smile, and for a moment Clarke forgets the pain in her heart.

Lexa tugs her hand though. “Come, I saved you a plate. The night will only grow colder.”

Clarke glances up. The sky is a dark blue now. A few stars are poking out. “Yeah, alright.” She lets Lexa pull her to her feet. “Do you want to ride?’

Lexa seems to think it over before shaking her head. “It is not that far a walk. The sky is beautiful tonight anyway. We can lead her back to the stables by hand.”

Clarke shoots her a knowing look though. She suspects the actual reason Lexa refrain from a walk is because she knows that sometimes Clarke finds walks to be refreshing, a way to process and clear her mind. She’s hit again with a burst of affection for her—and a word she dares not acknowledge—so when Lexa raises a brow in question, Clarke nods.

“Come on Dire,” she calls, and Lexa rolls her eyes when the horse happily comes over and nudges her head. She grabs its reins and turns to Lexa. She gestures with a smirk. “Ladies first.”

Lexa looks like she wants to glare at her, but all that comes through is a smile.

-

They don’t speak on the way back.

But the air isn’t heavy between them, and Lexa’s hand is warm in her own. She feels it as that warmth spreads up through her fingers tips, slips in through her veins like water and thaws out that icy weight in her chest, coils pleasantly right beneath her ribs, and when she glances to the side at Lexa as they take that elevator ride up—the rickety machine still gives her unease—Lexa looks to her too and offers a small smile.

Her stomach flutters like it always does.

Like it always damn does.

When they get to their room Lexa informs her how she’ll call for one of the maidens to retrieve the plate she’d saved for her. Clarke tries and fails to tell her it’s fine and she’s not worth the effort, but Lexa just glares at her and doesn’t hear a word of it. She would have argued more with her but she’s tired, she’s in no mood, so in a rare show she merely sighs and accepts defeat. Lexa frowns at her, probably expecting a far bigger argument from her. It’s no secret that Clarke is a stubborn thing.

The food comes and Clarke eats on the bed. She sits cross-legged in the middle, her eyes lazily following Lexa as she de-stresses from the day. She sheds off her long flowing coat that sometimes Clarke thinks looks like shadows that chase her feet, placing it on the hook she always hooks it on, she shucks off her shoes and undoes the many clicks and buttons. When Clarke sees the frustrated crease of Lexa’s brow she hurries that last bite and puts the plate to the side. She slips to her feet and creeps over.

It marvels her when Lexa doesn’t tense at her approach, even if she’s coming from behind. Wordlessly she begins the growingly familiar process of releasing the many intricate braids Lexa has within her mane of a hair. It’s gorgeous, it really is, but it’s also takes a tedious amount of time and there must be a certain level of care. Her fingers are gentle and nimble as she works her way through it. There are some advantages to having a thief as a lover.

“Thank you.” Lexa mutters when she’s done. Clarke just rubs her arms and takes Lexa’s jacket off, laying it over a chair behind her. A smile tugs at her lips and she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the back of Lexa’s neck where an infinity tattoo sits, her kisses trailing off to the side. She wears a long sleeved shirt underneath, but the neckline is low and loose enough that when Clarke digs in a finger and gently pulls it to the side it reveals the expanse of skin with ease. Her lips trace the white scar that lies across her shoulder.

She senses more than sees Lexa’s smile. “Will there ever be a time when you do not kiss that scar?”

“It’s your werewolf scar,” Clarke murmurs with a smirk. She playfully nips the warm skin. “It’s far too badass to resist.”

Lexa turns around. She attempts to give her a glare, but Clarke is starting to get dizzy with their proximity, and it must be obvious in her gaze of the stirring low in her gut because Lexa swallows thickly. She’s not stopped when she pushes forward and connects their lips. Clarke sighs in the instant relief she feels. While she treasures every moment Lexa, it’s when she’s near her, when she can feel the warmth of her skin under her fingertips and tongue is that unexplainable knot in her chest loosening—her heart for once stumbling out of its cage and jumping into Lexa’s hands.

She slips in her tongue and she’s treated with Lexa’s moan. It’s very much one of her favourite sounds in the world, and her smile is untamable as it spreads. She knows Lexa feels it, can probably taste it, because not long after are her hands shooting out and she’s pushing her into the wall. Clarke groans and pulls away to catch her rapidly decreasing breath.

Her eyes flutter open and she sees Lexa do the same. They stare at each other for a moment, Lexa’s chest is rising as fast as Clarke’s own, and there’s a rare darkness in those green eyes that Clarke craves and makes her toes curl. It’s only for a beat they pause, seeming to take each other in, but Clarke is overcome with a wave of such _urgency_ and _need_ she lunges forward and crashes their lips hard enough Lexa stumbles back. There’s a surprised whimper that soon morphs into a low moan when her mouth moves to her neck and she jumps up, her legs wrapping around Lexa’s waist and Lexa’s hands immediately slipping under her thighs to support her like it’s second nature. She carries her weight with ease.

There are certain advantages to having a warrior as a lover.

Clarke nibbles her ear, hears Lexa’s shaky breath. “Bed,” she mumbles before nipping the soft skin. Lexa doesn’t so much as verbally agree as bring their lips together in a heated clash. She blindly makes her way over to their bed and Clarke’s hand pull her in at her neck. She bites her lip and Lexa trips, and it’s with a laugh does she hear Lexa’s growl, yet she is still gentle as she lays Clarke into the bed’s furs. She grins and grabs Lexa’s collar when she tries to pull back.

“I am meeting with the ambassadors tomorrow Clarke.” Lexa warns, but her voice is breathless and Clarke just hums. She tugs her closer.

Her fingers sneak their way to the bottom of Lexa’s shirt. “And?”

Lexa swats her hands away. “ _And_ it is early. And I cannot be late.” Clarke fists the bottom of her shirt and pulls her closer. “I cannot risk—“

Her words are cut off when Clarke lifts her shirt and kisses her stomach. The muscles are hard under her lips and she’s already addicted to the taste of it.

“ _Clarke_.” Lexa hisses, but it only spurs her on.

“You are Heda. They will wait. It won’t kill them to sit on their asses a little longer. After all,” her hand slides around to the small of Lexa’s back, pulling her in as she nips and drags her tongue over stomach. “You’re hot when you’re commanding. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the power play. I certainly will.”

Lexa groans. Her entire body is trembling and finally she gives in. She leans down and Clarke smirks in her victory as she pulls her with her. She kisses her with a desperation that spreads between them, Lexa’s body melts into hers, and if it weren’t for the clothes that separate their forms—something Clarke will soon be fixing—she thinks she would have no idea where Lexa would end and she would begin.

She rolls them over so she’s straddling her. Lexa sits up beneath her and when Clarke snatches the edges of her shirt to haul it off Lexa’s hands clasp over her own. Lexa’s smile is coy and sly as she inches forward and gently, so incredibly gently, she presses her lips with hers, slowly pulling the shirt off her herself. Clarke raises her arms and she’s about to just shove Lexa back into the bed when the shirt’s gone, but there’s something that changes. She’s breathing hard in just her bra wrap and pants, her heart thundering so relentlessly against her chest she’s convinced it’s going break out.

But Lexa’s eyes are different now. They are still dark, still dark enough that Clarke feels that want spread heat in her gut, but they are also soft, glistening with a care and affection that has her wanting to look away. Lexa looks at her like she’s something holy and Clarke never knows what to do with it. She doesn’t feel she deserves it. But if she ever voices that, she fears that Lexa would convince her until she did.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers, and it’s the way she says her name, it’s the softness that makes it feel like her chest has cracked open. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” Clarke answers, but Lexa’s never been a fool.

Lexa swallows. Her eyes flick between her own, Clarke thinks she’s searching for something. She has no idea what. “I know you’re in pain, Clarke.” She mutters quiet and Clarke’s sucks in a sharp breath. She averts her gaze.

She doesn’t understand how Lexa can read her better than herself sometimes.

Lexa comes forward more. She feels a hand touch her cheek and nudge her so their eyes meet again. “What is it?” she says again. And this time Clarke thinks it.

While there’s no doubt of Clarke’s playful and distracting nature, and ever since Lexa has been hers she has not hesitated in connecting them by skin as often as possible—she knows there is something different this time. She doesn’t know how Lexa has worked that out, because Clarke is really only realising it now, but like always Lexa has, and it’s that damn care that makes Clarke cave.

The breath that she releases is shaky and she tightens her grip on where she still holds Lexa’s shirt. “I need to feel you.” She whispers, and she hates how weak she sounds, she goddamn despises it, but the words come from a place too broken to come strong. Clarke blinks the burning behind her eyes. “I need to feel you under my hands.”

Lexa watches her a short while. Clarke tries to look away but it doesn’t work, and she’s powerless as she stares with fasciation the wave of emotions that pull at her features. “I am safe Clarke.” Lexa says, because somehow she understands.

“You don’t know that.” Clarke mutters.

Atom’s death has served as a reminder of just how dangerous this world actually is. She had briefly forgotten, somehow, reveling in the bliss of mapping Lexa’s body and soul, but today is a sharp shove back into reality. Their lives are not safe ones. People die often. The clans play together now, but no one knows how long the peace will last. There is unrest within her own and trust is becoming more illusionary by the breath. Atom has been killed, and there may be some supernatural creature on the loose that they know nothing about. Or worse, it was indeed a murder, and that’s a whole other issue.

They stand at such a teetering precipice and Clarke has never been so terrified to fall. She doesn’t care the short amount of time she has known Lexa. Deep down she knows her and Lexa’s souls are one and that if she were to die it would probably kill her too. And the idea of Lexa dying, of losing her, is so devastating the thought alone makes it feel like she’s drowning in the open air.

“We are safe Clarke,” Lexa whispers again, and there’s a burning conviction in her Lexa’s eyes Clarke tries to make herself believe in. “Atom was not your fault. You do not need to fear for me.” She grows a small smirk. “You have seen me fight, after all.”

Clarke stares at her closely. “We live dangerous lives, Lexa.”

“And we have survived this long. We will survive another. Another day, another week—another year. I have no intention of leaving you.”

She can’t breathe. “I need to feel you.” She whispers, but she doesn’t move on her. It’s more a request than anything.

Clarke can see her bite her cheek. Lexa cradles her face suddenly; she looks into her with such intensity Clarke doesn’t think there’s anything that exists outside of them in this moment. And just when Lexa’s eyes look like they’re going to glisten too she leans forward and kisses her.

She can taste the hope she tries to give her. But it doesn’t quite make its way into her and into her lungs, and instead she still feels like the very fabric of the universe is being torn apart around them and they’re the sole survivors in a fading existence. Clarke kisses her harder and Lexa replicates. She feels calloused yet delicate hands slip around her back and carefully unwind her bra wrap. She removes Lexa’s shirt and when she pushes her back into the bed she tries to drown herself in Lexa’s touch.

She can feel the words that want to come out. She feels them as they leak out of her heart and claw their way up her throat, but as they meander their way up to the tip of her tongue, they do not jump, but they remain stuck in a breath that chokes her. She tries to say it anyway. It comes out in the way her lips slide against Lexa’s with the familiarity of ancient lovers. In the way she presses into her and trails her hands over her skin like she hasn’t done it tens of times before. In the way Lexa’s hand tightens in her hair and her head throws back as Clarke dips below.

She tries to say it. She tries so hard to say it.

But the only word that comes out is Lexa’s name.

-

The first time she wakes, she doesn’t really wake.

She’s still more asleep than conscious but she feels the bed dip and the body of warmth she had been pressed up against shift. She groans her disapproval when Lexa tries to pull away. Their bodies are so tightly entwined together Clarke thinks they’ve merged beings somehow during the night. It wouldn’t surprise her.

Clarke tightens her arms from where they wrap around Lexa’s waist. She hears a raspy laugh. “I need to get up, Clarke.”

“No you don’t.” She mumbles in response. Her eyes remain closed. “Stay. You’re warm.”

“I told you I had a meeting with the ambassadors.”

She scrunches her nose. She feels Lexa’s hand slip over her own and gently pray hers away. “I will take away everything they own.”

Normally her threats carry weight, but her words are slurred and she can practically hear Lexa’s smirk.

“While I have no doubt you could do that,” Lexa manages to finally free herself from Clarke’s grip. Clarke whines when Lexa pulls away. “They are what keeps my peace.”

“ _You_ are what keeps the peace.” Clarke grumbles. Her eyes begrudgingly peak open, and though she’s hit with a wave of the cool morning air, Lexa is naked as she slips off the bed and drifts over to her dresser. And suddenly Clarke is feeling _very_ hot. “Come back to bed. Ditch them.” Her eyes follow Lexa’s form with a hawk’s intensity.

“If I do that I will never leave.” Lexa retorts as she pulls on her undershorts and pants. She frowns suddenly as she glances around. “Have you moved the wraps?”

Clarke is still heavily distracted with sleep and attraction and it takes her a while to process Lexa’s question. “Sorry, it’s the drawer below the usual. Ran out of space for my loot.”

Lexa sighs as she opens said drawer and finds what she’s looking for. She throws her a glare over her shoulder. “Could you please keep your stolen goods _not_ in our room?”

“Who’s going to check it Lexa? The maids won’t dare to snoop Heda’s possessions. It’s safe here.”

“Yes, but it is still _stolen_.”

Clarke watches the naked muscles of Lexa’s back. She will never tire of tracing the tattoo that follows Lexa’s spine with her eyes. Though it would be better to touch it. “Stolen. Permanently borrowed. Justice for the people. It’s semantics.” Lexa picks up the fabric to wrap her breast, and Clarke gets a sudden idea. She smiles devilishly. “Hey, let me help you—“

“ _No_.” Lexa shuts it down before Clarke can even lean up from the bed. She shoots her a look, and it’s obvious she knows exactly what Clarke’s intentions had been. “I am not missing this meeting Clarke. Go back to sleep. You stayed up late last night.”

Clarke smirks. “And whose fault is that?”

Lexa finishes her bra wrap and starts her usual layering. They’re just coming out of winter now, so the weather has been getting better, but it’s still chilly enough that Clarke stays snuggled under the furs and dreads the cold of the outside air. “Sleep Clarke. If the Gods are feeling kind perhaps the ambassadors will be reasonable today.”

Clarke groans. The only time that would ever happen is in dreams. She just wants her body back in her arms. “Lexa,” she whines again and she doesn’t even care if she’s sounding needy. She’s sleepy and she’s content and honestly a little turned on from eyeing Lexa before and she just _really_ wants Lexa next to her again.

When Clarke opens her eyes she sees Lexa is dressed. She walks over to the bed and Clarke instinctually pulls herself up. The furs pool at her waist and while she shivers because _fuck_ is it cold Lexa’s leaning down to her and kissing her softly. She kisses her back with great enthusiasm, sweeping her tongue over Lexa’s bottom lip and sucking it gently. It pulls a reluctant moan out of Lexa’s throat and Clarke grins.

Lexa pulls away. Her pupils are wider and Clarke’s hand is already reaching for her neck to pull her back in. But Lexa breathes shakily and steps back. Clarke’s hand falls to the bed.

“Sleep, Clarke.” Lexa says, but her voice is shaky and breathless in that way that drives Clarke insane. “I will return soon.”

Lexa gives her one last glance—this one softer than the others, filled with a warmth that makes Clarke fight off a blush—before she clenches her jaw and slips out of the room. Clarke falls back into the bed with a huff.

Damn. She’d nearly had her.

Maybe she’ll cheat and use magic next time.

-

The next time Clarke wakes the room is lit up in the late morning light and Lexa’s side of the bed is cold.

She sighs as her eyes blink open. She trails her hand over the coldness where the body of warmth should be. It happens more often than she’d like, waking up without Lexa, but that’s what you get when your lover is Heda. It is something unavoidable. Although, the closer that her and Lexa become the more Clarke thinks she’s going to be swept in the politics soon enough. She’s not looking forward to it. She already deals it plenty with her own people.

It’s easier with criminals too. Clarke had heard the story of Lexa kicking an ambassador off the Tower. Honestly, she’s impressed it was only the one. Maybe she could convince her to kick Titus off. She’s getting bored of his constant glares.

Clarke pulls herself up. She pauses a moment, looking out to the open window on the far side of the room. The sun’s rays bleed onto the rugged stone floor, but they’re sliced in rows as Lexa has pulled the shutter out. The action makes Clarke smile. Lexa knows she’s not one for early rising—unless there are certain motivations of course.

She swings her feet over the side of the bed and curses at the coldness. She really can’t wait for spring to hit. She’s just about to push herself up when she spies a little rolled up note on the bedside table, an elegantly tied red-ribbon wrapped around it. Clarke’s smile widens and she picks it up, careful to rid the ribbon and not rip the paper. It stretches out beneath her fingers with a delicate crinkle.

 _If I could have sent the ambassadors home just to remain with you, I would have,_ the note starts and Clarke feels warmth blossom in her chest. _But unfortunately, someone must keep them from killing each other. Assuming you have slept in—which you probably have—the meeting should be finished by the time you’re reading this. I will wait for you near the kitchens for breakfast._ Clarke’s cheeks start to ache with her grin. If Raven were here right now she would be getting torn to shreds. She thinks the note’s done, except there’s a small line sternly scrawled at the bottom. _And don’t think I don’t know about the secret passageway you use to sneak into the kitchens at night. I do. Please go the normal way so the guards do not have a heart attack._

Clarke pouts. Damn. She loves that passageway. It’s ideal for her to use it to satisfy her seriously weird midnight cravings.

She slips to her feet and dresses herself. She grabs the jacket made with the hide of the Direwolf, though she refrains to use the great beast’s skull as a shoulder pauldron. It’s badass and terrifying, but it’s also bulky. The thing was massive after all. The jacket itself is terrifying on its own anyway; the Direwolf’s bones are embedded into the leather, sharp teeth at her cuffs, long, carved claws that act as hooks to bring the jacket together.

The Tower is awake as Clarke walks out the room and through the familiar halls. She passes maids and warriors and she tries to offer a smile to the few who dare to meet her eye. At the start she would get nothing. It seemed stoicism was not just a trait that Lexa had. But slowly, she’s been wearing them down. When she passes by the guard that works the elevator he even offers her a good morning. She’s complained to him multiple times on how foolish and dangerous the elevator is. He always listens, though Clarke suspects he’s just happy to be acknowledged.

It is strange, the luxury of the Tower. She’s still not used to it. She doesn’t think she ever will be. After all, she had only _just_ started to adjust to the luxury of Polis itself, but now she’s neck deep in it, has damn _maids_ that actually wait on her. It’s unsettling at times, and often she still makes the effort to do chores herself, smiles and bats away the maids that fruitlessly try to assure her it is their jobs. The home that Clarke lived in when she was a kid had a dirt floor. She feels such an irrational sense of betrayal at the idea of settling in to this life.

But that is not the only thing unsettling her. Atom’s burning will be today. She will need to organise the funeral, it is the least she can do for everything he has done for her. It’s true that they haven’t been as close these past years, but he was still a close and trusted friend. Losing him feels like losing something from her past. Like the day you come back to visit home and realise that childhood tree you had spent all your younger years siting under—you come back to find it is gone and replaced with a well. Atom had been there for the beginning. And now he’s not.

She will not let his death pass soundlessly. She will find the cause. And Gods have mercy if she finds that it is murder and not an accident.

She will raze the world to the ground.

A maid slips out of the archway into the kitchens. She catches Clarke’s eye, offering a hasty nod and scurrying away. Clarke does what she does best when she feels emotional turmoil. She shoves it right down and pretends it isn’t there. There is no doubt that it will leak out and probably bite her in the ass later down the line, but for now, she just wants the comfort of Lexa’s presence and nothing else. If there’s anything she knows that will help her right now, it is Lexa.

So when she walks into the kitchens and sees that Lexa isn’t there, she feels her heart sink. Shit. She must have slept in for longer than Lexa had expected. Well, she’s here anyway. And she’s hungry. She may as well grab something before she resigns herself to asking around to find where Lexa is.

There’s no one in here. Clarke hums as she treads over to the many cupboards and peaks in. Should be some cheese somewhere, maybe some bread, some eggs. Her stomach grumbles just from the spiced smell of the kitchen alone. The fire-heated stoves crackle quietly in the background. She’s just closed the cupboard with a disappointed sigh when she hears approaching steps. Her eyes turn to the archway into the kitchens, and the person whose just walked in freezes when they meet gazes.

Anya grinds her teeth. “Thief.” She acknowledges.

“Lapdog.” Clarke counters.

Anya narrows her eyes at the nickname. It’s not an old one. Ever since Anya started to calling her thief as oppose to her name, she figured she would return the favour. It’s not petty if they’re both doing it.

“Killed anyone today?” Anya asks as she moves further into the room. She stops by a fruit bowl, picking up an apple and leaning against a pillar.

Clarke raises a brow. “Not yet. You?”

“I am not a criminal, a murderer, unlike you.”

Clarke pauses from where she had been reaching for the cheese. She turns around and looks Anya in the eye. “And where do you draw the line, of murderer? You have most likely murdered far more than me.” Anya stiffens, but before she can throw her retort Clarke is stepping forward and continuing. “There is no honour in killing. There can’t be. You may hide behind your title all you wish, because as a warrior it should be different, right? I am not proud of my actions, but I do not regret them. And I will not pretend for one second that they are honourable.” She gives her a sharp smile. “Unlike you.”

Anya frowns at her. For once though, she remains silent. Her gaze is unreadable as she stares at her, but Clarke shrugs it off, nabbing a wooden plate and slicing some cheese. The silence is strange between them. Clarke can’t tell whether it’s the type that comes before a fight breaks out or the quiet that follows in the aftermath. She turns, glancing around the kitchen. Her eyes catch on the fruit bowl.

“Can you pass an apple?”

Anya seems to come back to her usual snide self then. She scoffs. Clarke sighs, and her shoulders tighten when Anya just shoots a look at her and makes no move. Clarke narrow her eyes at the apple still clutched in Anya’s fingers. She smiles, her hand coming up and warmth rushing through her arm. Before Anya can stop it or realise what she’s doing there’s a ruffle of wind in the room and the apple is ripped from her grasp. Clarke catches it in her waiting hand.

Clarke smirks at Anya’s fiery glare. “Thanks.”

Anya’s hand twitches by her swords sheath. “I have no idea what Lexa sees in you.”

“Well, I’m a thief as you say.” She winks. “I’m good with my hands.”

Anya’s lip pulls back to snarl but before she can someone else comes into the room. Her and Anya stand at opposite sides of the room, and though they had both been leaning against the walls—as while they insult each other they will not fight here—they both immediately straighten at the new presence and draw themselves up.

Clarke really doesn’t like Titus. She doesn’t like his bald head and his patronising gaze and the way when he talks with Lexa he toes a very fine line between condescending and advice. She’s asked to kill him more than once, but Lexa always says no, sternly reminding her that he is the only one with the knowledge of how to pass on the Commander’s Spirit to each Heda. She says he is the only one who knows how to perform the magic. Clarke has suggested on multiple occasions that they should get him to teach someone else so she can dispose of him. Lexa still says no.

But while there are many things she hates about the man, there is one thing good thing that comes out of him. It’s evident now, as her and Anya remain silent as they stare at him, waiting for whatever he is here to do. Anya may threaten to throw her into the dungeons for the rest of her lifetime daily and Clarke may needle and provoke her as much as she can, but there is one thing they agree on and always will.

The protection of Lexa.

Titus’ eyes briefly flick to Clarke’s, but with a disdainful curl to his lip he instantly focuses on Anya. He nods at the warrior. “Anya, where is Heda? She is not at the training grounds.”

Clarke rolls her eyes when he refuses to acknowledge her presence. He’s made it clear on more than one occasion of his opinion of Heda having a lover. Some love is weakness or some bullshit like that. Personally Clarke thinks he just needs to get laid himself.

Anya cocks a brow. “Have you gone to Gustus?”

Titus glares at her. “Yes. He said you would know.”

Anya watches him a smile. Eventually, she shrugs. “I do not know. Perhaps you should ask her lover.”

Titus blinks at her, but Anya merely smiles. It’s definitely not a smile though. It looks sharp enough to slice into someone’s throat. If a snake could smile, Clarke thinks it would look like Anya’s. It’s obvious in Titus’ gaze that he would rather swallow a scalding hot coal then ask her, but Anya doesn’t say anything more, her brow remains expectantly raised, and it looks near painful for him as he clenches his jaw and stiffly looks to Clarke. A vein is poking out from his neck.

Clarke says nothing. She waits for him to speak. It seems to piss him off more, but he can’t do anything but glare at her. His jaw flicks to the side. “ _Weron Heda kamp raun?”_ he mutters, something annoyingly smug in his eyes.

But Clarke just smiles. “ _Ai nou get in._ _Mebi tran granplei grauns nodotaim?_ ”

Titus’ jaw drops slightly. He knows she’s Skaikru, and also that Skaikru don’t speak Trigedasleng. Clarke had taught herself though. It seemed something useful. He glances between her and Anya. Clarke can see in the corner of her eye that Anya is smirking at his embarrassment. He slots his eyes and growls before spinning around and storming away.

They both relax. Clarke waits till she is sure he is gone before meeting Anya’s gaze. There’s something suspiciously close to approval in her eyes, and she must realise it too because suddenly she’s scowling and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I still dream the day where I will be able to throw you into a cell.”

Clarke almost laughs, and instead she just grins. “Can’t lock up a dead body.” She retorts, but she’s not looking to start another sniping match, so she pulls herself up and steps forward. “Where _is_ Lexa, by the way?”

“Library.” Anya says instantly. They share a smirk that almost comes across as friendly. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Clarke blinks at her. “And you couldn’t have opened with that?”

Anya shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”

Clarke grinds her teeth. Goddamn it. With a huff she grabs the plate of food she’d made. She throws Anya a withering glare as she leaves, but Anya merely returns it with a victorious show of teeth. What Clarke would give to knock it off. Maybe she’ll steal something of hers soon, she hasn’t done that in a while.

Yeah, she’ll definitely steal something of hers soon.

-

She walks through the library’s massive oak doors.

The library is surprisingly vast. It’s also open to the public, though there are guards that line the walls and watch the users of the resource with sharp eyes, so when Clarke walks in she’s not surprised to see a few strangers wandering through the aisles. The first time she had come here she had laughed. She had never seen so many books before in her lifetime. Lexa had smiled at her, the one that always makes Clarke want to kiss her.

Speaking of kissing Lexa, where is she?

She’s been nibbling her plate of food as she walked. Lexa tries to reprimand her of her bad manners, but old habits are stubborn things and tend to lie a little too deep rooted. She tries sometimes, for Lexa. Today is not one of those days. There’s towering shelves that line either sides of the room, but in the middle there’s a vertical row of a tables, a few carefully covered candles to bring in light but caged so they can’t touch the delicate books. And, there is Lexa. She’s nose deep in a book so massive Clarke thinks you could knock someone with it and they’d drop dead.

She doesn’t notice her as she approaches. She must be really in to it. Clarke slows as she comes behind her, tiling her head and squinting as she tries to read over Lexa’s shoulder. _The vampire’s only weakness lies in their heart. The undead do not have hearts, they cannot breathe, they do not feel, they do not care. But their heart still remains within their chests. Though dead the vampires were once human. To destroy their heart is to destroy whatever is left._

Clarke hops up on the table. Lexa jumps and Clarke settles the plate in her lap. “Upbeat book you’re reading. What is it?”

Lexa gives her a small smile though when they lock eyes. “Good morning,” she says instead. “I see you slept well.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Shut up. I had a late night.” She smirks at her. “Speaking of…”

“Not in the library.”

“You said the same thing about the throne room. And the kitchens. And the training grounds. And the baths—“

“Clarke.”

She throws up an arm. “Fine, fine.” She sighs and grumbles under her breath. “Not my fault you’re gorgeous naked. And that you had the audacity to kiss me like _that_ this morning and then just walk away.”

Lexa raises her brow. “Yes, it is indeed all my fault. None of your own.”

Clarke grins. “Now you’re getting it.” She plops a piece of apple in her mouth and leans over Lexa’s arm, glancing at the book again. “And you didn’t answer my question. What are you reading?”

Some of the playfulness leaves Lexa’s features. She sighs. “It is all we know about the creatures not human. Their weakness, strengths, what they can do…”

Clarke loses her smile. “You’re looking to see if anything could relate to Atom.”

“Yes.” Lexa answers. Her voice and eyes are soft. “I… was hoping you could help me, as there is a lot to sort through. But I understand if it is too much. I can—“

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s alright.” Clarke runs a hand through her hair. She puts the plate to the side and slips off the table. She pulls up the chair next to Lexa and sits down. “There another one of those?”

“There is another volume.” Lexa bites her lip. “Are you sure?” she asks again, and her voice is gentle enough that Clarke feels her heart beat painfully in her chest.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Her words only shake a little. It seems to be enough to convince Lexa though, because she nods and picks up a book from a pile she didn’t realise was Lexa’s. It’s a massive pile.

“You can start here then. I believe that one is on the ones that only hunt at night.”

Clarke takes the book. She picks up another piece of cheese and bites into it. Gods, it may be weird and uncomfortable to be living in this luxury but _fuck_ is the food good. She glances to Lexa but she’s already scanning over the book again. Clarke watches her for a beat. She allows herself to take in the fact that Lexa is doing this mostly for her. She could easily have someone else do this, she is Heda after all; she literally has an entire army of followers who would do anything at the twitch of her hand.

But she knows that Atom was her friend, that this is personal. So Lexa is doing it herself. She offers support in such a wordless and casual gesture that Clarke feels like there’s never-ending water pouring down her throat and filling her lungs. And Clarke doesn’t think that Lexa even knows how much her actions mean, just how world bending they are. Because for her they are thoughtless. They are done without expecting a reward.

She feels the words come up again. They hide behind her teeth. She stares at Lexa, and she finally looks up, actually blushing slightly at Clarke’s intense stare. “What is it?” she asks, and she sounds fucking _shy_.

She should say it. She _needs_ to say it.

“Nothing.” Clarke says. She smiles, pretends it doesn’t shake. “It’s nothing.”

She’s lying.

-

Clarke nibbles the ink pen. She glances up to Raven who’s cleaning glasses on the other side of the bar. “And what about Murphy? Has he checked in yet?”

Raven nods without looking at her. “He did the job in Blue Cliff. Some politics thing, blackmail retrieval pretty sure.” She places down the now clean glass and picks up another. “He’s established a new contact as well. The nephew to the King.”

Clarke raises a brow. “That is who the anonymous contact was? The _nephew_ to the Haihefa?”

“There’ll probably be a coup in the next decade. Assassination at the very least.”

Clarke flips to a new page of the book in front of her. “We’ll have to be careful not to get too involved then.” She mutters as she notes the development down. “We can’t appear to choose sides.”

“Won’t it be worse if we don’t?” Raven asks, looking up at her.

Clarke pauses. “There would be pros and cons. If we chose the side that won, we would be in the better graces, if we lost, we lose all contacts in Blue Cliff and possibly incite a blood feud. It is too risky.”

“Outside party it is.” Raven nods. Clarke makes some more notes. The bar isn’t is as silent and tension filled as it was yesterday, but it is still oddly quiet. It feels less restless though, thank the Gods. There may be a coup occurring in Blue Cliff in the next decade but there’s a possible one that’s simmering under the surface right here. It seems like her stunt with Suni has helped tide the tension over a little. But it has not solved the problem.

They don’t speak for a while. Clarke goes through the book, seeing what has been stolen through the week, who has fallen behind and who has possibly been going too far. It’s not a particularly enjoyable task, but it is an essential one, and it is an oddly calming process anyway. Making notes and not having to think on anything but the numbers and names.

Atom’s burning was this afternoon. They went out of Polis, keeping his body delicately placed in a wagon and having the bonded inside, allowing her privacy with her grief. She and Atom’s body, spare Raven who guided the wagon, were the only who didn’t walk. Raven actually had wanted to walk, but Clarke didn’t want her to considering the injury in her leg. Of course she didn’t _tell_ Raven that, and instead she said she needed someone she could trust with her life to be the rider for Atom. She thinks that Raven saw right through her but decided to leave it for once.

They walked for hours. Pretty much everyone came. It would have been a good day for Anya, Clarke bitterly thought, because crime for a moment had to be put on pause in respect for Atom. They took him south, near Sankru. The deserts. It was too far to get there by foot, but they went as far as they could, until the temperature started to rise and they all began to sweat.

His bonded was the one who lit the flames. They prepared the pyre, the woman was racked with too much grief to even move, she just collapsed into Raven’s side and while Raven had never been the best at emotions Clarke saw her hold her without complaint. She had shot her grateful look then. She would have taken Raven’s place, but she had to help stack the wood and make sure Atom was treated with care.

When it was done they all stepped back. His bonded had stumbled forward then, breathing ragged through her sobs. Clarke had been shocked when instead of heading for Atom, as she had expected, she went to her.

“He talked very highly of you,” she had said quietly, and Clarke suddenly found she couldn’t breathe. She stared at her. His bonded didn’t seem to be looking for a response. “You were his first friend here. He… he was wanting kids, and when I told him we should leave Polis, find somewhere safer, it had made him pause. He didn’t want to leave you. I never understood his loyalty.” She let out a shuddered breath. “But I see it now. He never had someone who stood above him that he could trust. His parents despised him. He spent most of his childhood in cells. But you…”

She had turned to her then. Grabbed her hand. “You had made him feel safe. Gave him someone to believe in that he felt he could actually trust.” She stepped away briefly, took the prepared torch, though its flame wasn’t lit, an oil-dipped rag wrapped around the head of the wood. “You should be the one.”

Clarke had felt something akin to being pierced in the chest with an arrow. But when she looked to her ribs, she saw nothing. “No, he was yours. It is your right.” She had eventually managed to croak out. The woman sobbed and Clarke had never felt so helpless before. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Her own tears had leaked through then. “I can’t.”

The woman’s body shook with her sobs. She trembled so violently Clarke’s hands were twitching with the instinct that she was going to collapse and would need to be caught. The woman stepped away and Clarke looked behind her to Raven, giving her a nod. She came forward and gently took the torch from the grieving woman’s hands, lighting it and handing it back to her.

When his bonded finally found the strength to go forward and light the pyre Clarke watched the flames catch alight. They grew and grew, great big red hands that swiped against the sky like they were trying to catch the clouds but kept missing. They remained silent. The only sounds were his bonded’s broken sobs. Clarke caught the glimpses of others as well. She looked to her people, and when her gaze swept over it snagged on Suni, and his face was still littered in tiny shallow cuts as he sobbed into that older man’s shoulder. Clarke’s heart constricted.

She looked to the flames and wondered what would happen if it were Lexa’s body there, not Atom’s.

The only reason she didn’t fall to her knees was when Raven silently appeared at her side and held her hand.

She squeezed it hard enough she think she bruised her.

Clarke works through in a sort of trance as she goes through her notes. She’s just crossing a name out when she hears her name being called. She blinks, glancing up and finding Raven in front her. All the glasses are clean and stacked away. Clarke frowns.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Skaikru slang is so oddly disconnected from the majority of the clans. She doesn’t know how, though she suspects it’s to do with how isolated they had been, hidden right up in the mountains and practically nestled within the clouds. It was only very recently that they even joined the coalition and started to integrate outside of their own.

Raven shifts on her feet then, and Clarke realises she’s nervous. “Look I know we just burned Atom today but… who will take his place? Now that he’s…”

Clarke feels her heart sink. She swallows. “I was thinking Harper.” She answers quietly. It’s perhaps sad, how when Atom had died, while she had had the thoughts of anger and grief, she had also immediately began to thought of who would step into his shoes. She doesn’t know what that says about her.

“You’re not as close with her,” Raven notes, and Clarke nods.

“True, but I know she’s loyal to me. She was with us in Skaikru Rae. She’s of the ones who followed me here. Out of our circle, she seems the most trustworthy and that she won’t attempt to take the territory herself.” Raven still looks uncomfortable. Clarke doesn’t comment on it though; she’s feeling the exact same, but she can’t show it. “She is still working a job in Azgeda anyway. She should be returning next week if nothing goes wrong. I will talk with her then, for now, I will oversee the Skaikru district.”

Raven sighs, but she doesn’t argue with her. She glances to her hands before looking up to her with a wry smile. It is far weaker than usual. “Just like old times huh?”

Clarke smiles. It is equally weak. “Yeah, old times.”

But if it was old times Atom wouldn’t be dead.

Raven reaches across the bar and grabs her wrist. She seems to understand, and Clarke is grateful that she doesn’t have to say it. She’s been repressing it. Refusing to let the grief consume her, as she can’t, her position has never been so tenuous and she still needs to find the true cause of Atom’s death. She can’t break. She supports too much on her back for that.

She’s gotten used to the subdued nature of the bar today that when there’s a sudden burst of sound she jumps. Her head snaps around and she gapes at seeing Murphy stagger into the bar. He’s panting and sweating all over. He kicks the door close with a slam, eyes frantically searching the bar and his entire body sagging when he meets her sight.

“Murphy what—“

“Princess he’s coming. Put the books away, _now_.” He cuts off, his foot tripping as he rushes over to her. Clarke has never seen Murphy so out of breath before. For a thief he has an immense aversion to running.

So she takes his warning without question, knowing it is serious. “Raven go,” she instantly says and Raven doesn’t hesitate to obey her, snatching the book and slamming it close. She disappears off down the narrow haul to stash it away in the hidden board in the apartment. Clarke turns back to Murphy. “Murphy, who are you talking about? Who’s he?”

Murphy rushes to her side. He leans into the bar, though unlike how he usually does it to show his indifference, it seems more practical anything, a way to keep himself upright. “I caught word and came as soon as I could. The prick paid someone off to slip in unannounced, but one of our own paid guards saw him. The fucker has finally found the courage to leave the Mountain.”

Clarke bursts to her feet. “You don’t mean—“

The door is slammed open a second time. Some people jump to the feet, immediately stepping back as a group of men start to flood in. There’s only five, and this is the heart of Clarke’s land, so she knows if a fight were to break out she would be fine, but still her shoulders rise and her face hardens into stone. She feels Murphy stiffen behind her. He forcefully eases his breath to hide his panting.

The four men surround one, and with that annoyingly familiar smirk Cage slips through and pauses a few metres away from her. “Child of the Sky.” He greets.

Clarke resists the urge to throw her dagger into his chest. “Cage.” She mutters carefully. She glances to the men with him. The black and red leathers. She smirks. “I’m surprised to see you here. Considering how recent to power you are.”

Cage’s slimy grin falters slightly. “Some things are worth the risk.”

When she had killed Pike there had been a vacuum in power. Cage had always been a pain in her ass, but he was a minor one. He hid in his territory under his father’s shadow and while he got up to some seriously fucked up shit, he had never messed with her, not directly. He had never had the power to. But him and Pike had always had a rivalry, and when Clarke caught word a month ago that Cage had taken over Pike’s territory and people—she wasn’t surprised.

“I don’t remember giving you a request to come here.” Clarke says, and she feels the wave of tension that settles over the room. Cage looks unaffected though.

“You did not. I come of my own volition.” Cage answers with that smug smile.

Clarke’s hand drifts to her side. She toys with the handle of her dagger. “I see. And your reason?”

“Atom, of course.”

Any traces of casualness, whether feigned or not, drains from her. It feels like the temperature drops in the bar. She draws herself up and she notices the man that stands closest to Cage shifts uneasily. “What about Atom?” she asks, but her voice is low and treads the line between a demand.

Cage gives her crooked grin. “To pay my respects. It is always a tragic lost when we lose our own.” He reaches to something behind him, and while just about everybody tenses in the room and reaches for their weapons, Cage, instead of pulling a knife like Clarke is expecting, pulls out a small pouch. He comes forward and Clarke raises her chin as he slowly the places the pouch on the counter behind her. Their faces come dangerously close, but Clarke stares him dead in the eye.

His smile remains and he pulls away. “For his bonded,” Cage says, gesturing to the pouch. It’s of money Clarke realises. “While I know there is nothing that will ease her but revenge, it is the least I can offer.”

“Revenge?” Clarke raises a brow.

“He was murdered wasn’t he?”

Clarke pauses. She watches him intently. “We don’t know.” She says slowly. But Cage just tilts his head.

“To my knowledge he was poisoned. While he could have somehow ‘ _accidently_ ’ ingested it, I very much doubt that.” At his words Clarke feels some of her people look to her. Glance to him.

Clarke grinds his teeth. Cage’s smile doesn’t waver. The fucker knows exactly what he’s doing. “You may want to relook into your knowledge then. Atom was killed; whether it was murder it was unknown. Nevertheless it will not go unanswered. He was a dear friend of mine.” It takes a lot of conscious effort, but she keeps herself from shouting. Instead her voice remains calm, though it is very much the opposite. “It is appreciated your… ‘ _care_ ’ to offer your respects, and I will not stop you to do so. But do keep in mind whose land you walk, Cage.”

Clarke smiles.

“Polis is a dangerous place. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt on foreign soil.”

She’s not expecting it when instead of Cage reacting to the barely veiled threat, one of his men does. He looks only a little younger than herself. “You murdered Pike,” he spits, bursting forward.

Clarke leans back against the bar counter. Ties her hands together near her thighs. “I did.” She states calmly.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarls and he rips out the long dagger sheathed at Cage’s side and lunges for her. She reacts in time to miss his lunge, but he had already been close and she’s not quick enough to miss completely. The blade skims her arm in a sharp sting of pain. Clarke bares her teeth though and grabs his arm and twists, throwing him to the side. He stumbles back but just as he makes a move to come at her again Murphy suddenly grabs him from behind.

It’s over the second he gets him. Murphy snatches the man’s wrist as he lifts it for Clarke and uses his own momentum to drive it into his chest. There’s a sickening squelch, and the man freezes, blood starting to poor from his lip.

“Your spirit will never move on,” he wheezes, before Murphy rips the blade out and promptly slits his throat.

He collapses to the floor.

Clarke stares at the dead body. Slowly her eyes flick to Cage. Disgust crawls through her when she sees him not even the slightest bit affected about what’s happened to his own. “My apologies,” he says, like someone hadn’t just tried to kill her. “Some of the men held a great respect for Pike. His actions were his own. Do not take offence.”

Bullshit. Clarke knows damn well he would have slaughtered each one of Pike’s loyalists the moment he came into power. But she doesn’t say anything. She can’t kill him. Killing Pike was already risky enough. If it becomes habits of her murdering thief leaders her own leadership will be called into a question, and she’ll be killed herself. So instead she grits her teeth.

He watches her a moment before slowly walking over to the dead body. He kneels down, picking up the dagger that is still wet with his blood in the puddle that leaks out near his throat. He wipes it against the man’s own shirt before sheathing it.

Clarke wants to fucking kill him on grounds of disrespect alone.

“Well, it was nice to see you once more, Sky Child. I’m sure we’ll meet again, as your people say.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at the title. It doesn’t escape her notice that he deliberately avoids calling her Wanheda, and instead the name she had had when she was a younger, a teenager. “You may stay, Cage. But if you cannot control your men, the consequences will not be pleasant.” She offers him a sharp smile. “Now. Get out.”

He smirks at her. He gives her a mock bow. “As Heda’s lover wishes.” He grins.

He doesn’t give the dead body of his man a single glance as he turns around.

Her smile slips from her face and she forcefully stops herself from chasing after him and slicing his throat. What she would do. Instead, she pulls in a deep breath, cringing slightly at the tangy smell of blood. She looks to the body on the floor, and since she knows Cage won’t give a damn for his spirit, she supposes it’s up to her. She doesn’t doubt that Cage probably set him up for it and just used Pike as a shield to hide behind. It all honesty she feels sorry for the man.

“Thanks Murphy,” she says into the silence. Murphy gives her his trademark smirk.

“Anytime Princess.” He glances at the body. “You want me to get rid of him?”

She nods. “Take him out through the tunnels. Burn him near the Azgeda tunnel. That is his home.”

Murphy frowns. “Does he deserve that?” he asks carefully.

Clarke sighs and she doesn’t understand how old it sounds. “Cage, no. Him, yes. Treat him with respect, Murphy.”

He doesn’t look like he agrees with her, but he nods anyway, hooking his hands under his armpits and waving over a few others to help him. Clarke steps back, and when she glances behind her she sees Raven is behind the bar again. She must have snuck back sometime during Cage’s sudden arrival. She looks to Cage’s money pouch.

“Do we give it to her?” she questions.

Clarke crosses her arms. She digs her nails into skin. “Yes. Despite Cage’s obviously lying through his Gods damn teeth, she needs all she can get. If she’s lucky she can use it to get out of Polis.”

Raven nods solemnly at her. “Gotcha.” She grabs it and slips it into her pocket. Clarke doesn’t need to ask to know she’ll take care of it. Raven frowns suddenly. “Hey, is your arm okay? You’re bleeding.”

Clarke blinks. She rotates her left arm, glancing down and sees the shallow swipe of where the blade had skimmed her. “I’m fine. Just a scratch. Probably won’t even scar.”

“You want a drink?” Raven asks.

Clarke glances at her. She’s about to say yes, but Cage’s encounter has left her burning with a dangerous anger. Atom’s blood isn’t even cold yet and already he’s fucking using it as an excuse to walk her land. His own man is killed in front of him and he doesn’t blink. She hasn’t seen him in years, and she hasn’t missed him one bit. Alcohol isn’t enough for this. She’s full of too much energy, too much frustration and fury. No, she knows what she has to do. There’s only one thing to do when she’s this angry.

She abruptly turns around and heads for the door. She can’t do what she wants here.

“Where are you going?” Raven calls after her. She can practically hear her frown.

Clarke clenches her jaw. “To hit something.”

-

She waits within the comfort of the shadows.

Her back leans causally against the stone wall, right at the edge of where the hallway cuts to the left, and Clarke waits patiently, eyes closed and her ears peaked. She had learnt Anya’s schedule a while ago, although the warrior has a habit of changing randomly every now and again. Clarke mildly suspects it’s because she knows that Clarke knows, and having a thief know where you are at all times is probably not a reassuring feeling. Anya was the one to start this feud anyway. It’s not Clarke’s fault.

She hears the stomp of feet that she’s come to recognise as Anya’s. Clarke smiles, her arms crossed lazily over her chest as her eyes flutter open. Not a moment later Anya turns the corner and jumps back with a sharp curse at Clarke’s sudden appearance.

Clarke smirks. “Lapdog.” She greets.

Anya still looks shaken and Clarke honestly thinks that if she weren’t so loyal to Lexa she’d probably be dead by now. By the way Anya’s jaw clenches and her hand twitches by her sword’s sheath, she doesn’t think she’s wrong. “Thief.” Anya mutters back with gritted teeth. “What are you doing skulking around? Have you grown bored in ruining lives?”

“You’re going to library now,” Clarke says, ignoring the jibe. Anya has already mentioned countless times how she will lead to Lexa’s doom. Hence her immense dislike for her. “Meaning you are free. I want to fight with you.”

Anya blinks at her. “What?”

“Come on, I know you’ve been itching to the moment I stepped foot here.” Clarke pushes, but Anya just frowns harder and narrows her eyes at her.

“What is your game?”

“No game. Just a fight.”

Anya stares at her for a few moments. She looks beyond confused, but also immensely suspicious. “I have no wish to waste my time.” She eventually says. Clarke loses her smile and Anya steps back. “It is impossible to knock the dishonour out of a thief. Prison however, would be a lovely solution.”

Anya gives her a smirk and starts to walk away. Clarke clenches her fists. If she doesn’t hit something soon she’s going to explode. “I never took you for a coward, Anya. Lapdog perhaps, but not a coward.”

Anya stills. She glances back to her. “Insulting me will not get you what you wish.”

Clarke shrugs. She can already see the tension rising in Anya’s form. “Of course, as you’re so high and mighty aren’t you? It’s a surprise you don’t turn your nose down at Heda.”

Anya bursts forward with a snarl. “Don’t you _dare_ insult Heda.” They’re nose to nose now, but Clarke only grins.

“I would never do such a thing. I insult you. Not Lexa.”

Anya is breathing sharply through her nose. Clarke watches as her shoulders rise and she steps back. There’s a fire that lights itself in her eyes, and Clarke’s pretty sure she can actually smell smoke. “The last time we fought you lost. Do you wish to humiliate yourself once more?”

“The last time I didn’t know you held magic.” Clarke shows her teeth in a way that’s more animal than human. “There will be no surprise this time.”

Anya’s brow twitches slightly. “You wish to use magic?” she whispers, her voice dropping uncharacteristically low. Clarke remembers what Lexa had told her a while ago about Anya’s fear of her abilities being widely discovered. She doesn’t blame her. She’s had personal experience with the issue when she was younger.

“There are no training grounds that can be private?”

Anya sighs. “There is one.” She mutters quiet, and Clarke’s animal smile widens.

“Let’s go then.”

It looks like Anya wants to run her through with her sword right here, but in the end she moves back and gives her a stiff nod. She turns back the way she came and Clarke follows after her. Her anger still seethes like lava under her skin, and while she knows Lexa will no doubt give her shit about this, she does not feel regret. Anya is the only one she knows who will not hold back with her, but at the same time, will not kill her. The woman may threaten her life daily but even she is not blind to the happiness that Lexa has been growing.

Anya won’t kill her. Not when it would hurt Lexa. But she won’t hold back either; she’ll give it her all.

Clarke remembers Cage’s smile and her hands curl into fists.

-

It only takes a few minutes to realise this had been a bad idea.

She had been right that Anya wouldn’t hold back. Because she hasn’t. At all. And while Clarke is fast and nimble she has not had the strict training that Anya has had. Anya is a warrior, a true-blooded one; she is not a guard or a bandit. She is someone with legitimate skill and a hell of a lot of repressed anger, and add on top that now magic is on the table and she can _literally_ burn her alive if she doesn’t dive out the way fast enough—it is no surprise that Clarke is getting utterly thrashed.

But she didn’t come here for a victory. Clarke already knows she doesn’t match Anya in a warrior’s skill, not even close. But she is here for the adrenaline, for the bruises and the pain and the way she can shut everyone out and focus on nothing but the two them. The hits she takes and delivers—though it is far from a balanced scale—the bursts of primal fear and pride and anger that keeps her going.

Anya throws her over her shoulder again, slamming Clarke’s back into the ground. Clarke groans but before Anya can come down on her she kicks her leg out at Anya’s knee and rolls to the side, scrambling up to her feet and lurching back just in time to miss a blaze of fire. Clarke grits her teeth and raises her hand but she doesn’t have time to focus on her before Anya is slamming into her again and it’s back to a dance of fists and kicks.

The air is cold but rivets of sweat are rolling down her back. She and Anya have stripped off their layers of armour long ago, as well the armour they hold within, as the moment the first fist was thrown—Clarke’s doing, much to Anya’s fury and aching jaw—there seems to be an odd agreement between the two of them that neither really realise settle into place. They shed off their leathers and place it next to their titles on the sandy ground. Anya looks to her, not as a thief, not as a threat to Lexa, but as a target—an opponent to dissect with her eyes.

Clarke looks to Anya and sees a warrior and nothing more. And she had known then that she would not win. But she did not come to win. The insults she expects to start flying never leap from either of their mouths. It comes in the eyes though, in the glare from when Anya slips behind her and kicks her to her knees, arm like steel locked around her throat and choking _right_ to that last second, when she is released and Clarke’s eyes are burning as she coughs and sputters and lunges at her once more; it comes in the smile, Clarke’s bloody grin and delighted laugh when Clarke’s agility outdoes Anya’s own and she’s sent flying back in the rare moment she can manage to get her magic going before Anya can charge into her.

Clarke staggers back. Her shirt is sleeveless and the windows will probably frost over night, but her skin is so hot and flushed she feels like Anya’s fire has somehow escaped into the air and is seeping through her skin. She’s panting hard, though thankfully Anya is too. While Clarke is the one definitely losing, that does not mean Anya has had it easy—she suspects they will both be bruised to the bone by tomorrow morning.

She is expecting Anya to come at her again but to her surprise the warrior steps back. She stumbles a bit. Clarke makes no comment, as she knows if she steps back too she would probably do the same.

She drags her feet—though it is obvious she tries her absolute hardest in not to—as she walks over with stiff legs to the side of the sandy ring, where their discarded clothes lay. She snatches the canteen buried in the pile of her coat and brings it to a lips in one long chug. Clarke watches her drink with envy. She hadn’t thought far enough to bring water. When anger clouds her mind she never does.

Anya pulls the canteen away from her mouth. She catches her breath, but when her eyes flick to the side and she wipes the escaped water away with the back of her hand she frowns at her, her brow twitching, before she presses her lips and throws the canteen at her. Clarke’s reflexes kick in just in time to catch it.

“You’re going to topple over if you don’t drink. I’d rather not bring back a corpse.” Clarke opens her mouth and tries to say something, but nothing comes. Anya looks equally uncomfortable. She glares at her. “Would you rather I drag you back to the Tower slung over my shoulder?”

Clarke blinks, but despite her shock and unease her throat is so dry she can almost taste blood, so she glances to Anya once before giving in and chugging the rest of it. She’s so relieved from just how much the water was needed she almost moans. She swallows right to its last drop. She throws it back at Anya who catches it with ease. Anya peeks into the canteen, her brow furrowing.

She shakes her head. “You even steal the water.” She mutters, letting the now empty canteen falling back into its cushion of clothes. There’s less venom than Clarke is used to in Anya’s words. But then Anya ruins the strange moment by snatching something hidden by her clothes in a blink and flinging her arm at her.

She only manages to focus on the flying dagger at the last minute and hastily throws it to the side, the warmth rushing through her arm and the blade landing in a nearby red-ringed target with a dull _thunk_.

“What the hell Anya?” Clarke hisses but Anya merely cocks her head at her.

“How long have you known you’ve had magic?” she asks.

Clarke has to blink to double check she’s heard right. But Anya continues staring at her, a brow raised and expectant on an answer. Without the constant fighting the cold is starting to come back and makes the hairs rise on her arms. “Since I was a kid.” She mutters warily. She doesn’t know why Anya is asking her this. Perhaps it is some strange way of proving her identity as Wanheda?

“For someone who has had it for so long, you do not know how to use it.”

Clarke laughs. “I know how to use it, thank you very much.”

“You have barely used it at all during this spar.”

“I know how to use it Anya. Have you forgotten the reason I was made to make a blood oath to Lexa?” Clarke smirks and Anya narrows her eyes at her. “But, I do not use it a lot in battle.” She swallows. There’s a foreign sense of comradery that hangs between, despite the fact they’ve been beating each other bloody for the past hour. “I do not know how.”

Anya’s usually hard mask is heavy in its confliction. It looks like she’s fighting a war within herself and her features cannot decide what to express. In the end, as Clarke unintentionally shivers from standing still in the growing cold, Anya nods and points to the dagger that lies embedded still in the target.

“Bring the blade over here.”

Clarke still kind of wants to hit her, but Anya’s talking with her in a tone she’s never used before. She glances between her and the blade. She raises her hand and focuses on the dagger, the familiar warmth rushes through her arm and blade trembles before it’s ripped out of the painted wood and zips over. She catches it in her open hand.

Anya is staring at her strangely. “You think too much.” She eventually concludes. Clarke’s oddly offended. She’s never had someone criticise her magic. How can you criticise something that no one else you’ve met has? “I suppose when you are breaking into houses and stealing from _actual_ hard-working people it is useful and you need to be fine in your movements,” Anya’s derisive tone is back and strangely it comforts her, “you cannot do that in a fight. You think too much. You must use instinct, not thought.”

“You’re not my first, Anya.”

“A fact I’m very grateful for.” Anya retorts dryly. But something changes, something softer than she’s ever seen from the usually stoic warrior. “But… you are the only other I’ve met with magic that is still alive. It is likely I will never meet another in my lifetime. Nor will you.”

Clarke catches the odd phrasing. “What do you mean still alive? You’ve know others with magic?” her voice is unable to grow in its excitement.

“My first. He had magic. It is the reason he became my first. The ones who took care of me when I was child had no idea I had magic, but he somehow knew. He trained me, both as a warrior and in magic.”

It is the first fact that Clarke has ever learnt about her.

Anya shrugs. It seems out of place. “You think too much. You focus too closely. In battle there is no time. You use instinct, not thought.”

Anya comes forward and while Clarke tenses and draws her foot back, Anya merely sighs at her and carefully takes the dagger from her hands. She moves backwards.

“Stand by the target.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. By the way Anya’s lips curl, she knows that Clarke already knows what she’s planning. “If you think I’m going to _willingly_ let you throw knives at me—“

“How else will you learn? This way you will learn. If you don’t throw the dagger away in time—“

“—it will _kill_ me—“

“—it will _not_ , as I will not aim for places that are lethal.” Anya gives her that cat-like smile she had seen yesterday, when she had looked to Lexa with unholy glee at the idea of making that city guard ‘talk’. “Painful, yes. Very painful if I’m lucky. But not lethal.”

“You’re insane.”

Anya walks over to the target. She positions herself some metres away, readies her stance and flips the knife between her fingers. She gestures to the target. “Do you wish to forever be useless in battle?”

Clarke grinds her teeth. She looks between Anya and the target.

Her stubbornness is definitely going to get her killed one day.

“I hope your reflexes are well. I’ll be throwing the knives back at you.”

Anya smiles.

-

When her and Anya walk back to the Tower Lexa is standing by the back entrance waiting for them. They both freeze instinctually at the sight of her, and Lexa looks deceptively relaxed as she leans against the stone archway, arms crossed and her brow raised. It probably doesn’t help that Clarke is limping and that she’s bleeding at her cheek from where Anya’s blade had grazed her.

Lexa sighs as she looks between the two of them. “Do either of you have any ounce of intelligence, or have you sacrificed it all for your idiocy?”

Clarke doesn’t appreciate the scolding. She’s just spent the past hour being thrown into the ground and had knives being thrown at her. She’s not only physically exhausted; she’s magically tired too. Bloody Anya and her ‘ _teaching_ ’. Fucking teaching her ass. She just wanted an excuse to throw knives at her and get away with it.

“Can we have this argument in the morning? I’m tired and just want to collapse.”

Lexa narrows her eyes at her. She thins her lips and glances between them. Eventually she sighs. “Fine.” She pauses, and concern softens her gaze. “Are you alright?”

Clarke smiles. “Course. Anya is more bark than bite.”

Anya chokes on air. “Excuse me? It was practically a beating.”

“No it wasn’t.” Clarke scowls at her. Anya replicates the hardened stare. “No need to boost your ego for Heda, Anya.”

“No need to lick Lexa’s boots, _thief._ ”

Clarke growls. “That’s rich coming from you _, lapdog_.”

Anya’s nostrils flare. “You fucking—“

“Hey!” Lexa snaps and they both cut themselves off. Their burning gazes don’t shift off each other though. She hears Lexa’s annoyed sigh. “Why the Gods make me suffer these children I don’t know. Both of you,” she points to them. “You think you can escape punishment for your recklessness because of your closeness with me?”

They both turn to her with a frown. Lexa just arches her brow higher.

“Yes, I am serious. I hear one more insult and both of you are mucking the stables.”

Clarke scoffs. “Lexa, come on.”

Anya seems to agree. “I was your first, Heda, you can’t—“

“ _Was_. And I am not joking. You two bicker like children. This is the first time you have been foolish enough to get physical however.”

Anya looks at her. Clarke almost thinks she’s going to throw her into the crossfire to save herself, but oddly, she just clenches her jaw and remains silent. “You are right, Heda. I am sorry. I did not think.”

“No, you didn’t. But thank you.” She turns to Clarke. “Is it safe to assume you provoked her?”

“Why do you assume that?” Clarke frowns, but Lexa just stares at her expectantly.

Clarke’s arms slap to her sides.

“Okay, fine. Yes. Now can I please go inside? It’s cold.”

Lexa sighs through her nose, but she nods. Something in her softens because she comes forward then and gently tucks away a piece of errand hair behind her ear. Her brow furrows slightly when her thumb brushes the slice at her cheek and Clarke hisses.

“What’s that?” she asks softly.

Clarke’s eyes briefly flick to Anya. “She was… helping me with magic.”

Anya blinks at her. Lexa frowns harder. “What did she do?”

“It’s nothing Lexa. I’m hungry, can we go inside?”

Lexa glances at Anya. Clarke has a feeling she won’t be the only one getting an earful tomorrow. “Okay. There should be some ice to help with the bruising.” Her hand lingers a moment at her cheek before she’s stepping away and walking back into the Tower. Her and Anya stay back a moment. They glance at each other.

“You think we’ll be lucky and she’ll forget about this by tomorrow?” Clarke mutters, and Anya’s lips actually tilt upwards a bit.

“I don’t believe we’ll be that lucky thief.”

It sounds more like a nickname than insult this time.

-

Lexa stays true to her word at least.

When they get back she refrains from an argument and instead just clicks her tongue, shaking her hand but gently passing her a warm rag and wiping away the sweat and blood. “You are very stubborn,” she mutters as she does, and Clarke can’t help but smile.

“You like it though.” She teases.

Lexa huffs but doesn’t deny it.

Later she has a bath made for her, despite Clarke’s attempt at refusal, and holy _fuck_ is it near heaven as she undresses herself and slowly slips her aching muscles into the hot water. She moans loudly. Okay, she can get used to this. Maybe not the maids, but the baths? That’s something she’ll be clinging onto. It’s so comfortable and she can feel the warmth seeping into her that she actually dozes off. Her neck is resting at the lip of the wooden bath and keeps her head above water, so she drifts off for a while uninterrupted, until suddenly she feels gentle hands touching her shoulder.

Her eyes flutter open, and she sees Lexa standing above her, looking down at her with a soft smile.

“You must be tired.” She comments quietly.

Clarke’s head is still hazy with sleep and she just hums. “Very.” She mumbles. A grin spreads though when sees how Lexa’s eyes flick to her lips and she raises a hand. The water ripples as she lifts it and gently grabs Lexa’s neck, pulling her down. Lexa offers no resistance and kisses her softly. Clarke in another situation would have tried to deepen it, maybe even coax her to slip into the bath with her, but she’s exhausted and soon Lexa is pulling away.

Lexa seems to notice her tiredness, because she presses a soft kiss to her forehead before walking around. “Come on. I hear the bed is far softer than the bath.”

Clarke grunts her agreement. She feels like she’s already falling asleep again.

She doesn’t really remember getting into the bed, but she knows she does as her eyes drift open some time later and she feels Lexa pressed up against her, her face soft and peaceful as one of her hands is limply resting on her waist. Clarke smiles a rare smile. The type she never thought she would ever be able to make. She reaches a hand and gently grazes her fingers across Lexa’s arm, gliding over her tattoo. She doesn’t even stir. She’s out cold.

She swallows thickly, and her smile slips from her face. She takes in a steadying breath.

“I love you.” She whispers.

Lexa doesn’t wake up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ze drama begins! yeah ill shut up. i hope you enjoyed that, no promises on when part 2 will be out as my planning skills are fucking abysmal and lifes a bit shit right now. hopefully it'll be soon, but im not making any promises. thank you for reading, and i wish you all a good one.
> 
> (also i know next to fucking nothing about smut and all that, does this shit warrant to change the rating to an M? i never know so ima just guess for now but! please correct me if im wrong i am totally clueless)
> 
> translations:  
> Sha Klark - Yes Clarke  
> Weron Heda kamp raun? - Where is Heda?  
> Ai nou get in. Mebi tran granplei grauns nodotaim? - I don't know. Maybe try the training grounds again?  
> Haihefa - King


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